Wanderings of the Wolf
by Linda Lupos
Summary: Sequel to "Prisoner of the Moon"; the story continues! Find out what Remus and Sirius did during book 4!
1. Letters

_Author:_ Linda Lupos  
_Rating:_ PG13, as usual. Not sure yet, though, it could get higher…  
_Disclaimers:_ JK Rowling´s, dûh.  
_Pairings: _none. Nope, not one. Or, maybe… hmm, we'll see.   
_Spoilers:_ all five books, mayor for the third and fourth one, only minor for the fifth one. I won't reveal who dies…yet.   
_Author's note: _yes, it was inevitable, a sequel to "Prisoner of the Moon"… the story continues! PotM told the third book from Remus Lupin's point of view, and this one's Goblet of Fire (and Order of the Phoenix?) from his point of view. I´ll also throw in some Sirius for good fun, but most of it is about Remus. It really helps if you've read not only PotM, but also "Remus Lupin", the original story to which Prisoner was a sequel – there are some recurring characters, so reading the original gives you come background on them. And besides, they're rather good stories, even if I do say so myself… You an find them here at fanfiction.net, just look in my profile.

Unlike I did with Prisoner, I´ll post a chapter ever two weeks. "Remus Lupin" and its sequel "Prisoner of the Moon" where already finished when I started posting it. "Wanderings of the Wolf" is a work in progress, which also means that I have NO idea what's going to happen (well, okay, I got a basic outline, but no more than that), how long the story's going to be or how long it's going to take me to reach the end of book 5. To give myself a deadline, I've decided to post every two weeks. It urges me to write on, and it gives you readers some certainty about when I´ll post again, and about whether I'm writing or not. And I believe two weeks is just long enough before your interest starts to fade… so the next chapter will be posted on September 24. Don't start complaining, I'm not changing it; it was either a long, good chapter once in two weeks, or short crappy chapters once a week. I figured you would like the first option best…

Please note that I am Dutch, English is not my first language, and I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes I've made.  
Well, that was everything I had to say so far. Onto the story, then!  
  
**Wanderings of the Wolf**  
_The sequel to 'Prisoner of the Moon' _  
  
**August 1994.**  
_"_Write to Sirius. _You've got to tell him what happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts…" _  
  
_Moony,__  
  
Just a few quick words now, I don't have much time or parchment. I'm perfectly fine, so don't worry about that (I know you did). I'm going as far away as I can, until I don't see any posters anymore. Blessed anonymity.   
Keep in touch, please – I want to know what's going on.  
  
Padfoot._  
* * * * *  
Remus ripped the seal from the single piece of parchment and hungrily devoured with his eyes the letter Sirius had written him. A letter was actually more than he had hoped for – and of course it was way too short. He read and reread it, but there were no hidden messages, no clues, nothing except that what was clearly written. He sighed and put the letter down, fighting back the urge to write back immediately – Sirius had obviously better things to do than answering an seemingly endless stream of letters.   
Remus picked up his old kettle, called out "Monster!" and when he heard the sound of a fluffy tennisball bouncing down the stairs, he proceeded to make tea for himself.   
The two of them were back in Remus' cottage in Derbyshire for more than a month now. It was strange being back there, after the noisy and busy life at Hogwarts. Remus' cottage had the reputation of being 'the smallest cottage in Derbyshire' (at least, according to Remus' brother Romulus), and that seemed true: Remus had the feeling that his office at Hogwarts alone had been nearly as big as the lower floor of his house. It was enough to give someone claustrophobia.   
Another problem he had was the utter boredom he experienced. Last year, his days had been filled with preparing and giving lessons, grading tests and essays, dealing with students and his colleagues. Here, all he could do was read and a bit. The first few days he had been occupied enough with cleaning his home after nearly a year of neglect, but there are only so many times one can wash windows, cut grass or dust books. To tell the truth, he had no idea how he used to fill his days before he came back to Hogwarts…   
The fluffy tennisball bounced from the stairs to the wall and against the door. Remus had wanted to make one of those hatches for cats in the door to the kitchen, to give Monster some more freedom, but he'd never got around to do it – ironically enough, he never seemed to have the _time_…Always leaving the door open gave a terrible draft, so he was forced to always open and close the door whenever his Puffskein wanted to come in.   
He opened the door and waited until Monster had hopped into the kitchen, then he set down a plate with leftovers on the floor. Monster liked leftovers, especially old breadcrusts, which were just hard enough for him to nibble on, but soft enough to chew with his small teeth.   
As Monster started eating his food, Remus set himself down at his kitchen table and folded his hands around his mug with tea. He mentally went over his scheme for today. It wasn't so much a scheme, more a list of things-to-do. It was a really short list. He ticked it off on his fingers.  
"Do the dishes, water the plants, make my bed, sort the laundry, read a bit, write Padfoot, make dinner, do dishes, read some more, go to bed." He sighed. "Just like yesterday…"   
Monster stopped eating long enough to look at Remus in an almost pitying way, as if the animal was really sorry Remus couldn't live the exciting life of a Puffskein.   
Monster's life was more exciting than the life of a usual Puffskein, because he shared his house with a werewolf. Not that he cared; werewolf or not, Remus was Remus to him, he merely changed form. The only thing Remus had been worried about was if he would eat Monster; the animal was so small the werewolf could eat it in one swallow, but that problem was fixed by something that had been owled to him a week before the full moon: a flask containing a thick, greyish liquid. On a note attached to the flask had been Remus' name, written with a spiky, somewhat angry hand. Remus would never find out whether it had been Dumbledore´s idea or that Snape had done this on his own accord. Either way, he barely had words to describe his gratitude.   
A distinct clatter in the mailbox in the door made Remus look up from his dreaming. "Mail's here," he told Monster. "Go get it, boy."   
He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the Puffskein looked indignant. Quite impressive for a furball the size of a tennis ball. Remus grinned and went to get the mail himself.   
It seemed to be pretty much the usual stuff. The _Daily Prophet_, with a huge article whetting everybody's appetite for the Quidditch Worldcup, and two letters. The paper ended up on the table, for later read, as Remus ripped the first letter open. It contained two sheets of paper filled with Romulus' usual babble, and more than twelve paragraphs self-debating whether he'd buy tickets to the Quidditch Worldcup, or spent his galleons on the addition to his family that was due in three months. It was quite mean actually; apart from the fact that Romulus downright admitted he'd rather spent money on Quidditch than on his own children, he kept discussing a subject that would never matter to Remus, because Remus would never have to choose between Quidditch or children: he would never have either enough money or, probably, children. But his younger brother happily chose to ignore that.   
Remus put the letter down, mentally went over some answers that were so sarcastic even Snape would've been impressed (hah, like _that_ would ever happen), and picked up the second envelope.   
It looked inconspicuous enough. The envelope was white with Remus' address on the front in a neat hand, written with black ink. It could've been send by anybody, really.   
Remus ripped the envelope open and took out a single sheet of parchment. In the upperleft corner, there was a picture of a wolf in front of a quarter moon, with a quill under it. The logo of the Werewolf Registry. Remus' brow furrowed. The annual update of his file at the Registry was not due in a few months, so what were they writing for? His eyes flew over the few lines of the letter, and they widened with every word. At the end of the letter, his hand was shaking and he had to sit down.   
They had found his _Alpha_, his 'father', the werewolf who'd bitten him – and he wanted to see Remus.   
~*~  
"Okay, now, you stay here and I get something to eat, okay? We can't have a huge animal like you stalking about." Buckbeak ruffled his feathers and looked positively indignant. Sirius wasn't impressed.   
"Oh, like I haven't told you before. We must not be seen, and people will notice it if a Hippogriff flies over. Trust me, they'll notice. Stay here and wait until I return." Buckbeak huffed and laid down on his side of the small den Sirius had made for them.   
The Animagus didn't waste more words, changed into his dog-persona Padfoot, and padded down to the village half a mile away.   
He and Buckbeak were on the run for a month now, flying at night and hiding at day. They were taking their time though, occasionally resting a few days. Sirius had decided to cross the border to the main continent right that same night. They'd barely made it, but as long as they were out of the United Kingdom, he thought, they'd be a little more anonymous, a little safer. Right now they'd come so far as Spain, and Sirius was playing with the idea to cross the Street of Gibraltar to Marocco, maybe pay a short visit to Egypt – he'd always wanted to see more of the world.   
He reached the border of the village by the time the people were waking up. The sky was blue and cloudless and it promised to be a warm day – again. Siestas were a necessity here.   
Padfoot leisurely walked down the main street to where he knew – and smelled – was a bakery. He could turn back into Sirius again, there were no 'wanted'-posters here, but he wanted to be absolutely safe. And his Spanish wasn't even rudimentary, so barking was more useful anyway.   
He started wagging his tail like the loveable stray he was the minute he entered the street in which the bakery was. This was his third day here, and the baker started to know him already.   
"Buenos dias, perro," he greeted Padfoot, who allowed the baker to pet his head, leaving white flour-fingers all over. Padfoot had only a vague idea of what the baker had just said – apparently some kind of greeting – and reacted accordingly. The baker continued with a long story that went right over Padfoot´s head, but he kept wagging his tail, in the hope of something to eat. The tactic always worked.   
The baker raised one floured finger and said something in Spanish, then he disappeared inside. Padfoot sat down, still drumming on the floor with his tail. After a few minutes, the baker reappeared with in his hands a few French bread-like breads. Those were the failures, the few breads that didn't come out right and were not suited for sale in the bakery. Padfoot didn't mind though – bread was bread – and he carefully took the breads in his mouth, careful not to drool on them too much. He wagged his tail a few more times to say 'gracias' (one of the few Spanish words he _did_ knew) and set off for his temporary home.   
The minute he was sure nobody could see him anymore, the dog dropped the breads on the ground and changed back into Sirius. Useful as a dog-form might be, he infinitely preferred his human form. He picked up the breads and strolled back to his den.   
Buckbeak had been dozing when Sirius entered their make-shift home, but immediately raised his head when the man entered. Not wanting to risk his life, Sirius bowed carefully for the Hippogriff. Technically, the animal was his now, but he didn't want to anger it; he'd rather bow one time to many than have his head bitten off.   
He threw one bread towards Buckbeak, who snatched it out of mid-air and started tearing it apart with his beak. Sirius laid the other two breads on the pile of leafs and grass and his cloak he called his bed, and took out a plastic bag he'd found on a parking lot in France, near something Muggles called a 'Supermarché'. He'd filled the bag with everything he'd found and thought would come in handy, such as food he'd found on a deserted market, or an old mouldy blanket he had found in a pile of garbage. As he was rummaging through his findings, he couldn't help but grin at the thought of his mother, who would no doubt be horrified that her son had become such a vagabond.   
On the other hand, he thought, his smile fading, that might be exactly what she had expected of him.   
He scowled, shrugged the thought off, picked out an edible apple and plopped down on his bed. He didn't need to worry about his mother anymore. He didn't need to worry about anything right now, except where he could find food and shelter, not being caught by the English Ministry of Magic, and how he could be the best Godfather possible for a boy several thousand miles away from him.   
He rubbed the apple on his sleeve until it shone, then he bit a large chunk from it with a loud snapping sound. The slightly sour juice filled his mouth, and he couldn't resist smiling around a mouthful of apple. He was relatively free, he had food, he was in Spain and planning to go further south, it was beautiful weather, he could take it easy.   
There was really nothing to worry about.  
* * * * *  
_Padfoot, __  
  
Me? Worrying about you? Never! But do make sure you eat enough, don't stay up late, and please don't stay outside when it rains…  
On a more serious note: do avoid being seen. They're still looking for you, and, although I have no idea exactly where you are, I hope it's far enough. Please do this old friend a favour and stay out of trouble!  
By the by, did you hear about the Quidditch World Cup? Seems like you chose the wrong summer to leave England! But I'm not rubbing salt in your wounds or anything… you know I´d never do that.  
  
Moony, who is hoping Ireland's going to win (since England was so shamefully beaten into such tiny bits and pieces that they were barely recognisable as Quidditch players)._


	2. Wulf

**And here it is, the second chapter!**

**A lot of you have said you wanted Chrystal McGowan in it again, with Remus' child, to – to be honest – wreck more havoc on Remus' already troubled life. You can probably already guess why I'm _not _going to do that; the poor man has enough to worry about already! Trust me, I know what's going to happen, and he – and I – won't be able to cram a baby into this… besides, it would be a bit _too _much Remus-torture!**

**Now, as for this chapter; I've never been to Morocco, I don't think I ever will go there. Any mistakes concerning that are completely my fault, and I apologise if I've offended someone actually living there… **

**The quote is from the film "The company of wolves" (appropriate, eh?) and film-fans might know where Wulf got his last name from…**

**Enjoy!**

**Still August 1994.**

"Never stray from the path, never eat a windfall apple and never trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle." 

* * * * * 

ENGLAND LOST?! What, are they stupid or something?! Argh. Who's Ireland playing against? Oh, what I wouldn't give for some news… 

 Yes, I eat enough, no, I won't stay up late, but staying outside when it rains is unavoidable I'm afraid. Sorry. 

Please send news and possibly some newspapers with your next letter. 

Padfoot, who's finally realising that reading newspapers might even pay off… (Who would've guessed?)

* * * * * 

The golden grille clattered back and Remus got off the elevator, along with three other wizards and a witch, who immediately walked off to their departments. Remus remained near the elevators a little longer. He always had mixed feelings when he was at the Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. He didn't mind going there to pick Romulus up from work to go and see a Quidditch game on a Friday evening. He even enjoyed being part of a working environment for a short while (even though he was just visiting), and Romulus had always some fascinating creature he just had to show his brother. Romulus worked at the Department that kept an eye on the experimental breeding of magical animals, and his work was "basically telling Hagrid off for Spellotaping some creature together that Mother Nature herself wouldn't have the imagination to invent". It was heaven for someone with a fascination for the bizarre, and Romulus was completely on his place there. 

Right on cue, the youngest Lupin-brother walked out of a small room that smelled strongly of coffee. He was clutching a huge mug filled with the steaming liquid, and he looked as if he was mentally still at home, with his head on his pillow. He crashed back to earth when he saw Remus, still standing near the elevators.

"Oh shoot, is it that close to your birthday already?" Romulus stammered. 

"Do not tell me you didn't buy me a present!" Remus exclaimed. It wasn't his birthday in a few months, but he wasn't going to remind his brother of that. 

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Romulus was rubbing his eyes to wake up. "It's not October yet. The World Cup hasn't even been played, right?" 

"Hmmm, that's what you think…" Remus said mysteriously. He took his younger brother by the arm and started guiding him to the right cubicle. He would not be late for work because of Remus. 

"Oh? What happened?" Romulus was awake now but played along with Remus.

"You… got a sudden amnesia… no, it was a very rare disease you got, which made you… travel in time… so, uhm… the World Cup has been played but you weren't there to witness it, because… you travelled in time!" Bah, lame story, he thought. 

"Or maybe I got knocked out on a routine check on a report about experimental breeding," Romulus fantasised, "and I got amnesia, and that's why I don't remember anything of the past two months!" 

"Or maybe you got so drunk after you found out Bulgaria won – "

"BULGARIA won?!" 

" – that you got hangover and that's why you can't remember anything of the past two months." Remus steered Romulus into the cubicle he shared with Mathilda, a witch with violently purple streaks in her hair. She waved at Remus. 

"But I betted Ireland would win…" Romulus complained. 

"That was why you were drunk, because you wanted to forget loosing all the money," Remus said, "and, well, the forgetting things worked out, but in a wrong way, you see?" 

"You two making up weird stories again?" Mathilda wanted to know. She shook her head. 

"No, Remus´s informing me why I can't remember anything of the Quidditch World Cup," Romulus explained. He put his cup on the desk and drew his chair closer. 

"I´ll leave you two to your very important work," Remus said, and made to leave the cubicle. He was called back by Romulus. 

"Oh, if it has already been played, then why is the entire Department of Magical Sports covered in posters announcing it?" 

"Obvious," shrugged Remus. "The whole Ministry was sympathetic so they decided to leave the posters to soften the blow for you when you would get your memory back."

"Ah," answered Romulus, as if the story was completely logical. Mathilda, however, crumpled a piece of parchment and threw it to Remus' head. "You seriously need your head screwed on the right way," she said. "Mental, both of you." Remus deftly headed the crumpled parchment back to her with a movement a Muggle soccer player would be proud off, then he walked back to the elevators. He turned left, to where he knew the Werewolf Registry was. Meanwhile, he traced back his line of thoughts.

What was he thinking of again? Ah, when he liked going to the Ministry, and when he didn't like it. He definitely didn't like it when he had to visit the Werewolf Registry for the update of his file, which was always around the time of his birthday (hence Romulus' comment). It was utterly humiliating to have to sit there between the crups and the kneazles, and having to shout his business over the insulting jabbering of the jarveys. Not to mention the looks some people would give him.   

But this time he had been smart enough to go early in the morning, to avoid the crowd. There was no one waiting before him so he could walk straight to the counter. Only one position was opened yet, occupied by a witch who was cleaning her nails with her quill.

"Excuse me?" She turned towards him with a face that didn't really express interest. 

"Yes, may I help you?" 

"The Werewolf Registry – "

She pointed to her right. "That way, you're the first today, just walk on." She resumed cleaning her nails.

Remus walked into the direction she pointed, and soon saw the familiar tattered sign announcing that he'd reached the Werewolf Registry. There was a portrait of Newt Scamander on the wall, and the founder of the Register was dozing in his frame. Remus resisted the familiar urge to pull a face to the old man, and rang the copper bell on the counter instead. 

A young wizard poked his head out of a back-office, saw Remus, visibly paled, and walked, hesitantly, to the counter. "Uhm, can – can I help you?" he asked, fidgeting nervously with the mug in his hands. Remus decided to come to the point immediately. 

"Yes, I received a letter about a week ago – " he took the letter in question out of his pocket " – giving me the address of Wulf Talbot, and I went to visit him yesterday, but he wasn't there. And by the looks of it, he hasn't been there for quite a while." 

"Oh, ah, yes," the wizard stuttered. "Uhm, let me see. Ah, can I – can I have that letter? Please?" Remus handed it to him.

"It's just… I'm going to – going to see if we know… anything. Er, be right back." He disappeared into the back-office. Remus drummed his fingers on the counter and shook his head. Even the wizards at the Werewolf Registry were apparently terrified of werewolves…

He only had to wait for about two minutes. The Registry wizard returned with a yellow file, from which he took a sheet of parchment. Remus could see that the file was about twice the size of his own file. He couldn't help but feel slightly impressed. 

"Ah, Mr Talbot has been taken to St Mungo's a few days ago," Remus was told, "because of, er, silver poisoning." The wizard flapped the file shut again. 

"Anything else?"

"No, thank you." 

~*~

Silver poisoning. Pretty much the last thing a werewolf wanted. There are only a few things that can really harm a werewolf, since they have the power to virtually regenerate themselves – and a good thing too, because they break every bone in their body twice a month. Remus' cuts and bruises always healed much quicker than those of his friends and family, and he'd barely needed Madam Pomfrey when he'd broken his wrist when he was twelve (courtesy of James and Sirius teaching him how to 'troll wrestle') – by the time he'd reached the Infirmary, his wrist had nearly healed itself. But silver was an entirely different matter. The effect of silver in a wound was the same as when dirt came into a wound; it got infected. It very nearly ate itself a way through the body. Remus had never seen silver poisoning, not even on photos; werewolves avoided silver like the plague. It was the reason why his mother had done away her silver cutlery, a wedding gift from her aunt, with pain in her heart. She'd rather see her son unharmed than cut her meat with a fancy silver knife. 

Remus had no idea what to expect, what he would see, and that was why he was now standing in St Mungo's, trying to get enough courage to open the door in front of him. He really felt as if opening that door would start a whole new life, and he wasn't sure he wanted to live it. Part of him wanted to bury his head in the sand and ignore everything, just walk away and pretend nothing happened. His other half knew that walking away was something a coward would do. And he would hate to think of himself as a coward. 

He determinedly pushed the door open. The first thing he noticed was how relatively small the room was. He knew, he had been told by a Healer that Wulf Talbot had been replaced from a ward to a room of his own, but he had no idea the rooms were this small. There was barely room for a chair, a table, a closet, a bed and a nightstand. Sunlight poured in through the window, which took up most of the wall opposite the door. Bathing in the sunlight was a man propped up against a pillow, shoulder-length white hair hanging loose. His hands – one, his left, bandaged – were fidgeting with the blanket, uncertainly touching, feeling the surroundings. The man heard the door opening – Remus could actually see the ears moving towards him before the man's face did – and looked at Remus. Well, not really looked. His eyes were a strange milk-white, with only a touch of yellow. He was blind. 

"Yes, what is it?" he asked. His voice was deep and hoarse. His ears were moving again, and his nostrils quivered slightly, trying to catch Remus' smell. The man was a strange mix of wolf and man, and it was both fascinating and disturbing to see. "You're not a Healer, are you?"

"No," said Remus. He swallowed. "No, I'm not a Healer." 

"Well, come in," the man beckoned. "I don't bite." He laughed a coughing laugh, and Remus flinched. "Who are you then? Sit down, I'm sure there's a chair somewhere." He moved his head around as if he could actually see what was around him. "Somewhere over there." He pointed to the corner with the chair and the table. "Am I right? Now, who are you?" 

Tell a lie, a voice in Remus' head whispered. He'll never know. Tell a lie. You can still walk out of here. Go on. Pretend you're someone else. 

"I'm Remus Lupin," he said truthfully, ignoring the voice. 

The old man went very quiet. "The Lupin kid," he whispered. "Well, well. My second Beta." 

"There is another one? You bit someone else as well?" Remus gasped. 

"Yes, but he died," Remus' Alpha shrugged. "Come over here, let me see you." He gestured with his left hand, and Remus saw that the bandage around the palm was stained with blood and something greenish. 

"He died?" Remus echoed, ignoring the gesture. "How can you be so calm about that? You killed someone!" Wulf scowled. 

"Werewolf's law, some live, some don't!" the man snarled. "You and I were lucky, he wasn't, must suck to be him but that's life!" 

"Lucky?!" Remus half-screamed. He had forgotten about the chair, all he could think of was the man opposite him, the man who had practically ruined his life before it had properly begun. "I wouldn't consider myself lucky!" 

"Why not?" Wulf said. He leaned back in the pillows, an infuriating superior smile on his face. "You're alive. You're lucky enough to experience all the good things in life. Good food, sunshine, whatever you like best. He's dead, and I bet that's not much fun." 

"I was five!" Remus was now really shouting. His hands had gripped the railing of the bed to keep themselves from strangling the man, who was still lying there, smiling. But now he pushed himself up, snarling. 

"So you were five. So? I was twenty-one! He was forty-seven! What difference does it make, huh? What difference! You were as much at the beginning of your life as I was! Don't be an idiot, boy," the man spat. His blind eyes were staring Remus in the face, and his hands were clutching the blanket much like Remus' were clutching the railing. "Lucky, hah! Stop talking nonsense. You only say that because you hate me, and why shouldn't you? Merlin knows I hate my Alpha. Everybody does, it's natural. But if I´d have to chose between this life or death, I´d chose life!" he barked.   

Before Remus had a chance to answer, the door was slammed open.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" a stout nurse demanded. Wulf's head jerked in her direction. 

"Oh, it's you," he said disdainfully. She seemed just as enthusiastic, but she ignored him. Instead, she turned towards Remus. 

"Were you upsetting the patient?" she wanted to know.

"No, the patient was upsetting the visitor," Wulf said lazily. 

"As usual," she answered coldly. "We have discussed this so many times, Mr Talbot. When are you going to co-operate?" 

"When the staff of St Mungo's is going to give me the slight amount of respect I deserve, I will be more than willing to be the docile patient you want me to be," Wulf snapped. "But as long as I'm cared for by incompetent nosy women such as – " He was cut short by the nurse, who turned to Remus, bit "you don't have to stay, you know. I can imagine you would want to leave," at him, and stormed out of the room. Wulf leaned back contentedly. 

"And?" he asked. "Are you leaving? Amazingly enough, she's right, for once. You don't have to stay." 

Remus closed his eyes, breathing slowly, counting to ten. Whatever he had expected of his Alpha, it wasn't this. He had expected more of a… father-figure. Calm. Knowledgeable. This man liked to start an argument whenever he could, enjoying upsetting people. He knew they hated and feared him and he loved every minute of it. Remus started towards the door. He would leave. He didn't want to be here. He had seen the man, had talked to the person who had made him a werewolf, and he had no wish to get to know him better. Wulf irritated and disgusted him. 

"So you are going?" Wulf said, baring a set of sharp, excellent teeth in what was a perfect wolfish smile. Remus stopped dead in his tracks.

"Now, go," Wulf continued. "Leave. Flee. Run. Like she said, why would you stay? I'm sure you hate me, it's obvious you hate your life as a werewolf, or Lycantrope, or whatever you people in denial want to call yourself to make it sound more fancy, less dangerous. Yes, go! I don't even want you here. I'm embarrassed, you know that?" Remus turned sharply and yanked the door open. He started to walk away, followed by Wulf's voice.

"Walk away!" the old man yelled. He had pulled himself up, and his hands were balled in two fists. "I'm happy to see you go! You are nothing more but a werewolf who denies himself. You call it accepting, I call it ignoring who you are!" By now, Remus had stopped walking, only a few feet from the old man's room. He was in the corridor, Wulf was in his room. The man was still shouting, he couldn't see Remus standing in front of his open door, listening intently.

"Yes, walk away. Pretend you're human. Act like them. Think like them. But you can never be them!" Wulf continued. Remus was staring at the floor, his nails digging painfully into the palm of his hand. He didn't want to continue listening, but he wanted to hear what was coming next…

"You are a disgrace," the man spat. "You are nothing more but a coward." He let himself fall back on his bed, turning his back towards the door, towards Remus.

His final words had hit target. A coward. He didn't want to be a coward. He didn't want to be unable to look himself in the eye, to have to admit to himself that he had ran away from something he didn't like. Determinedly, Remus raised his head, turned on his heels, and walked back into the room, shutting the door with a snap. Wulf turned around, a slightly impressed look on his face.

"I'm staying," Remus said.

~*~

"Allah u akbar, la ila'ha illallah wa, Muhammad ur rasullah."  

The melodic voice of the muezzin called from the minaret of the mosque, clearly audible, calling the faithful to prayer. It gave the strange impression of being sucked into the tales of thousand-and-one nights, all the more because the setting sun bathed everything in a golden light, colouring the sky a deep blue and the mountains ochre-red. 

The sight of it, and the smell of strange fragrances in the air brought a spring to Sirius' step. He was walking back from the medina, the market, to his and Buckbeak's hide-out just outside the village, in one of the many caves. He was in his human form, figuring that he wouldn't be so very infamous and sought after in a small village in Morocco. He had seen himself in a mirror this morning, and had thought that, even if he was being wanted, nobody would recognise him anyway. He had put up some weight, had his hair cut at the local barber (a very enthusiastic man called Muhammad who had insisted to shave Sirius as well) and he'd even got a tan. He'd almost start doubting if Remus, of all people, would know him back.

He was carrying his plastic back, now filled with dates and other local food, through the street that would take him to his temporary home. All around him, people were closing shops and preparing to go home. in some shops, he could see the owner bow down on a small carpet, muttering, their eyes closed. It gave a strange, peaceful feeling. 

In only a few minutes time, he had reached the outskirts of the village, and it took him only a few more minutes to reach the cave. Buckbeak was crouched on his own spot on the floor, waiting patiently. By now, the animal had got used to staying indoors, and kept quiet. 

"Brought you some food," Sirius greeted the Hippogriff. Buckbeak opened his beak expectantly, and Sirius took out a loaf of bread he had been able to bargain (with a lot of gesturing, much to the amusement of the local people) and threw it to the animal, who caught it in mid-air. They never tired of that trick. 

It wasn't until after this that Sirius noticed the snow-white owl on his bed, together with two other owls. "Mail!" he exclaimed. Today must be my lucky day! He quickly untied the first letter. 

_Dear Sirius,_

Sirius smiled. A letter from Harry.

_Thanks for your last letter, that bird was enormous, it could hardly get through my window. _

_Things are the same as usual here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation –_

Sirius didn't pretend to know what that was.

_out of the window. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn't even got _Mega Mutilation Part Three _to take his mind off things._

_I'm OK, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to._

Sirius grinned at that. 

A weird thing happened this morning though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterwards?

_I´ll send this with Hedwig when she gets back, she's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me._

_Harry. _

_PS: if you want to contact me, I´ll be at my friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!_

At first, Sirius felt a rush of pure jealousy. Harry was going to the World Cup and he wasn't! Of course, it would be suicide for him to go, but still…The feeling quickly subsided, however, when he realised the second message. My scar hurt again. Sirius knew nothing about curse scars but everything about Voldemort, and he knew this wasn't good news. Anything but. 

He laid the letter aside and ripped open the second one. This one was from Dumbledore, and it didn't exactly help to improve Sirius' mood. The letter was filled with news of the Ministry still searching up and down England for "the escaped murderer Black", Snape scowling at everybody and who had packed his bags and left for an unknown destination the first day of the summer holidays (Sirius couldn't help but grin at the bitterness the Potions Master had to be feeling), and rumours about Voldemort returning. Combined with Harry's news, it felt bad. Very bad.

Sirius immediately scribbled an answer on the back of Dumbledore's letter, and five minutes later it was zooming back to Hogwarts again. It was too urgent news to not send it back immediately. He sighed. He didn't like it, but it looked as if his vacation was over. He had really wanted to go to Egypt, it was only a day flying away from him, but what was happening in England seemed so urgent… He had already made up his mind. He would go back. 

He now realised there was one letter left. Dreading more bad news, he untied it. To his relief and joy he recognised Remus' handwriting on the bundle of Daily Prophets and three sheets of parchment. Remus had truly risen to the occasion. Untying the bundle delivered him not only three papers but also two sheets of Quidditch results of Sirius' favourite team, from 1981 until now. 

"Ah, Moony, you know me too well," Sirius muttered, grinning. He walked to the entrance of the cave, sitting down in the warm last rays of the setting sun. I'm going to enjoy it for as long as I can, he thought, as he folded the first paper open. 

* * * * * 

Padfoot,

As you have undoubtedly noticed, I have sent you a few papers, like you wanted (gasp! Padfoot wants to read! Papers, of all things!). One of them is the newest one I could get – although it's probably already outdated when you get it. The other two are old papers of dates you might find of interest – both have you on the front-page. Shame it wasn't such good news – what I wouldn't give to change it…

On a more 'cheerful' note; yes, England was beaten, and I can't remember it, seeing as I've repressed it all in an attempt to get over the humiliating happening. The Quidditch madness is reaching it's peak here, it's absurd. My brother's going to see the match, and he can't stop talking about it. He reminds me strongly of two other people who couldn't shut up about Quidditch either… 

_Moony, who is wishing that he had enough money to go see the World Cup._


	3. Quidditch and Belgium

**Ah, the next chapter!**

**I don't like it that much, it jumps too much, I think. And Wulf's more in this than I had expected…**

**There's a cameo in this chapter: Amy's one of my reviewers, who asked to be in this fict. She told me she used to live in ****Belgium****, and there was one time when a black dog walked into her school. That was pretty much all I needed to know. ^_^**

**The quote is from the movie "Wolf". It doesn't have much to do with the chapter, but I couldn't find a more appropriate one… **

**Enjoy! And keep reviewing!**

**August/September 1994.**

"The demon wolf is not evil, unless the man he has bitten is evil. And it feels good to be a wolf, doesn't it?"   
"Indeed it does."

* * * * * 

No, it wasn't good news – but I´ll try and stay out of the papers from now on, and you know what they say: no news is good news. 

Speaking of good and bad news: I'm not only corresponding with you, but also with my Godson and your former employer. Both have written me about, well, things that could mean that a certain You-Know-Who's back. So I'm not really pleased to announce that I'm coming back to England. Don't complain, don't try to change my mind, you'll not succeed anyway. Maybe I´ll pay you a visit, maybe not – I want to get to Scotland as fast as I can. 

Padfoot, who won't be back in time to see the World Cup after all. 

* * * * * 

Remus pressed the knife onto the skin of the apple. It sank in it with a soft snap, and he carefully began skinning the apple and cutting it into quarters. He was listening with one ear to the radio at the end of Wulf's bed, calling out commercials before the start of the Quidditch World Cup. 

"Almost done?" Wulf asked. His right hand was moving around again, nervously plucking the sheets. His left was laying limply at his side, the tips of the fingers a purplish black. He couldn't use it anymore. 

"Don't be impatient," Remus said, and he cut out the core of the apple. He did it exactly the way his mother had done when he was a child, and it felt a bit strange to do it for the older man; Wulf was hardly his child. The Healers at St Mungo's, however, had told Remus to do it this way, and the fact that Wulf hated it gave Remus an extra bit of satisfaction. Call it some kind of revenge. 

He finished one quarter and laid it into Wulf's right hand, who immediately bit it in half. 

"Stupid, childish way of eating," he muttered, munching. 

"That's the way they told me you're eating your apples," Remus shrugged, cutting the next quarter. "If you don't like it, do it yourself." He knew fully well his Alpha couldn't. 

Wulf knew too, and it pissed him even more off. He chewed angrily on his piece of apple. 

"Why do you keep coming here anyway?" he asked. Remus shrugged again. 

"I dunno," he said. "I guess I just like annoying you." He suddenly realised it was true – he did like to annoy Wulf, it was a way to get some revenge. And he also realised, with a strange feeling in his stomach, what a Snape-ish thing it was. Had the Potions Master rubbed off on him? It certainly looked like it. 

The small wireless radio Wulf had managed to borrow from the St Mungo's staff (or, more accurately, had demanded to get) was now blaring previews of the upcoming match, with in-depth discussions of the two Quidditch teams and their players. 

"You know, my younger brother's at the match now," Remus said, laying another piece of apple in Wulf's hand.  

"And you want me to know this because..?" Wulf replied sarcastically. 

"I was just trying to make conversation," Remus bit back, irritably. 

"Well, excuse me, but I'm hardly concerned about the trivial little facts of your life, or the whereabouts of your family." Wulf bit the quarter of apple in half. And once again Remus was left with nothing to do but to grit his teeth and attack the other half of the apple with his knife. 

"Can't you ever just pretend to be nice?" he asked. Wulf shrugged.

"Am I supposed to?" 

"Well, I've visited you practically every day for a week now, and I couldn't help but notice that I seem to be the only one who was visiting you, and maybe, just maybe that has something to do with the fact that you aren't very sociable." The older man scowled, and Remus smirked. 

"You done with that apple yet?" Wulf changed the subject.

"I got the last piece right here." Remus gave the quarter to him. 

"Took you long enough," Wulf said, munching. "Could've done it faster myself."

"Oh sure. You can't even see." Remus turned the radio, which was calling out the last commercials before the game, a little louder. 

"I would still be faster," Wulf insisted. 

"Dream on," Remus shrugged. "You'd only cut yourself, and I would get the blame for having your other hand bandaged too." 

"Humans," Wulf growled. "Stop thinking like one!" Before Remus knew what was happening, Wulf had reached out and closed his hand around the blade of the small knife. He squeezed hard, letting the knife cut into the ball of his thumb and the palm of his hand. 

"You idiot!" Remus scolded. He jumped to his feet, hastily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started prying Wulf's hand open. But by the time he had succeeded, he could see the wound healing before his very eyes. After about a minute, all that was left was a faint white line. 

"It used to go much faster," Wulf said, feeling the tiny scar with his thumb. "You see, boy? If I hadn't been a werewolf, I would be bleeding all over the bed, like so-called normal people. You keep forgetting that we cannot get hurt!" 

"Oh yeah?" Remus bowed forward, until his face was close to Wulf's, and he was staring into those blind eyes, and hissed: "then why are you in the hospital then?" 

Wulf opened his mouth, closed it again. Remus felt a grim kind of satisfaction. Leaving the old man to his confused feelings, he packed the skin of the apple in a paper napkin, picked up the knife, and went to return it to the Healer who had given it to him. 

She was sitting at a table, writing something on a clipboard. She was slightly older than Remus, with blond hair in a ponytail, and her nametag told Remus her name was Vivian White. When she heard him approach, she wearily looked up at him.

"Scared you away, didn't he?" she sighed.

"Actually, no. I left him temporarily speechless," Remus answered lightly, throwing the napkin in the bin and laying the knife on the table. His remark appeared to have left the Healer temporarily speechless as well. 

"You – what? But, that's a miracle! Could you teach me that trick?" The sad thing was that she said it only half-jokingly. 

"I simply have him a healthy dose of his own medicine, which was a lethally sarcastic comment, and he was as docile as a lamb. Well, as docile as he can get anyway." She smiled faintly. 

"Why are you visiting him so often anyway?" she wanted to know. "Family?" 

"Sort of," Remus avoided the subject, but she seemed to guess anyway. "Why?"

"You see, we have this system to contact the family of a patient if things are getting worse. And Mr Talbot – he may not look or act like it, but we don't expect him to see next month. It may sound hard, but it's the truth. So, uhm, if you want to, you know, if you want us to contact you if anything happens…" she trailed off uncertainly.  

"Sure, okay. Do I need to sign my name anywhere?" She gave him a sheet of parchment on which he could fill in his name and address and his relation to Wulf. He hesitated when he came to that last question. Finally, he filled in 'Godson'. It was the closed he could come up with. He handed the sheet to Vivian, who assured him that he would be contacted as soon as anything serious happened, then he wandered back to Wulf's room.  

"The match's about to start," the old man growled. He didn't mention their previous quarrel, and neither did Remus. He sat down and listened to Ludo Bagman announcing the two teams and the referee. 

The rest of the evening passed by fairly quietly, save for the enormous outburst of cheering that came when Krum caught the Snitch and Ireland won the Cup. 

"That was unexpected," Wulf muttered sleepily, rubbing his left upper-arm. Remus could see that the veins were a darkblue, almost black, but didn't mention it. He got to his feet.

"I got to go," he said. "I´ll probably be back tomorrow." 

"Hmm," Wulf answered absentmindedly, blind eyes staring at the end of his bed. He was still massaging his arm, and judging from the look on his face, it was painful. Remus was about to walk out of the door, when Wulf called him back.

"Oh, Lupin? A bit of advice, from a fellow werewolf." Remus turned, expectantly but a little sceptical. Wulf said nothing.

"What?" Remus finally broke the silence. 

"Don't get on the wrong side of a guy who just got a silver pocket knife for his birthday," the old man said. He laid down and turned his back towards Remus. His hand was still massaging his left arm. 

~*~

The next morning, everything was different. 

Remus noticed it first because of his mailbox. It was filled to the rim with not only the Daily Prophet, but also three letters. He took them all out, tossed them on the dinner table and went to make breakfast. News could wait. 

He would never finish his breakfast. When he folded the Daily Prophet open and caught sight of the headlines, he immediately forgot about everything to do with tea and toast. 

"SCENES OF TERROR AT THE WORLD CUP." Under this alarming headline, there was a photo of the Dark Mark. The picture was black-and-white, but Remus had seen it often enough to know that it was actually green. The sight of it made him feel queasy. 

He quickly skimmed the article but found nothing really interesting, nothing that pointed towards more than a few dark wizards having a cruel kind of fun with Muggles. To be honest, Remus had seen and read worse, and now the main news didn't seem directly life-threatening, he ripped the letters open. 

The first one was an almost hysterical letter from his mother, very nearly demanding reassurance that he wasn't hurt (as if he'd been anywhere near the World Cup) and that he wasn't going to get hurt either. Obviously, the memory of what Voldemort had done fourteen years ago was still fresh in her mind, just like her anguish over Remus' dangerous work for the Order of the Phoenix. He laid the letter aside, making a mental note to write back as soon as possible. The second letter was a short note from Romulus, merely telling him that he wasn't in any way hurt, that everything had happened practically at the other side of the camping site, and that he was safely home. The third and final letter was from Sirius, and not at all reassuring. He had heard 'things', he said, and he was coming back. Remus was so angry he crumpled the letter to a tiny ball and tossed it to the other side of the room. Whatever Sirius said, and no matter how right he had been proved with today's headlines, Remus didn't want to believe it. He didn't want Sirius back in England, he didn't want to lose him again. He picked up the letter from the floor and read it again.

"Don't complain, don't try to change my mind, you'll not succeed anyway."  Remus unconsciously clenched one hand into a fist. Despite what Sirius said, he'd try to change his mind anyway. Sirius would not come back, not if Remus could help it. 

~*~

And then they always say it only rains so much in England, Sirius thought wryly as he trudged through the steadily falling rain. He was in dog-form, and Padfoot could usually take being wet far better than Sirius, but that didn't mean it was any more comfortable. 

He trotted through a deep pool of water on one of the sidewalks, and irritably shook the water off his paws. It was the first week of September, but it seemed to be mid-autumn. It made him regret leaving Morocco even more. 

His nose caught the heavy, slightly raunchy scent of a chips-van. Those were fairly common, here in Belgium, and he'd nicked some left-over chips once. People didn't seem to mind giving a poor, stray dog some food. 

Shelter was something else. Through sheer luck, he and Buckbeak had managed to find a dry place to sleep in an old building that was apparently going to be taken down. It kept them dry, but that was about all. It was bitter cold, and to get at least some food, Sirius was forced to plunder garbage bins. 

He rounded a corner and crossed a square, not looking where he was going. It was getting late, he thought, I must be going back soon. Buckbeak will start missing me. 

He suddenly walked headlong into something. Shaking his head, Padfoot looked up and saw a double door right in front of him. A school. A _warm _school. He didn't need to think twice.

Looking sneakily left and right, he pushed the door open with his head and stealthily walked in. He was only going to stay there for a minute or so, to get warm, and he would not go further than the hall. 

He was greeted by rows and rows of pegs, on which little coats where hanging. Drawings decorated the walls, and there were large windows through which one could see the classrooms. Padfoot sat down in a corner, half-hidden behind a colourful raincoat. The rain dripped from his fur onto the floor. He was about to lie down when he noticed he wasn't alone. He froze.

There was a girl standing only a few yards away from him, near a door with a pink girl on it. She was staring intently at Padfoot. He guessed that she was around seven or eight years old, and she had shoulder-length light-blond hair. And he saw with a shock that she was walking in his direction. 

He looked across his shoulder for a way out, but when he turned around again he stared her in the eyes. He started. 

She had greenish eyes, which where looking calmly at him. "That's my raincoat, you know," she said. Padfoot was a bit surprised to notice that she was speaking perfect English, with a slight American accent. She crouched down beside him and reached out to pet his head. 

"You're all wet," she noted. "Did you come from outside? We were allowed to stay in at break time, because it was raining. Shall I get you a towel? I'm gonna dry you, come on." With this decision made, she got to her feet and walked away. After a few steps, she turned around to look expectantly at him. She beckoned. "Come on!" 

He followed her carefully. The word 'dry' had been too tempting to resist. She opened the door to the girl's toilets and waited for him to go inside. Padfoot whimpered.

"I know it's a girl's toilet," she whispered, looking left and right down the hallway, "but I can't go into the boy's, can I?" Padfoot sighed and resigned. 

Once inside, she softly closed the door and walked to the sink. She took the towel from its peg. "Come here boy," she whispered. Padfoot didn't need to be told twice. He pressed his head against the towel and she began rubbing him dry, all the while chatting to him about all sorts of things. Mainly about him. In top-speed.

"You're a big dog," she said, "and all black, and oh, I think this towel's a bit wet, but not wetter than you are, so it shouldn't really hurt, oh sorry, did I hurt your eyes? your nose's supposed to be wet I know because our neighbours have a dog and its nose is wet too our neighbours are funny and I think they are witches but my mom says they're not and I should stop making up strange stories but I don't want to stop wagging your tail so much or else I can't dry it where do you come from I don't think I can keep you – finished!" She hung the now-soaked towel back on its peg and crouched besides Padfoot.

"I think I need to go back to class before my teacher gets worried," she said sadly. She petted his head once more and got to her feet. "C'mon," she beckoned him. He followed her on tiptoe. 

As usual when one tries to open a door softly, the door creaked loudly. She anxiously glanced over her shoulder. 

"Amy!" someone called from inside a classroom. The girl hastily pushed Padfoot over the threshold. 

"Bye-bye," she whispered. She petted his head once more and closed the door behind him, leaving him in the cold rain. 

~*~

Sirius sneezed loudly. Rubbing under his nose he glared at Buckbeak, who glared right back. 

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't get His Royal Highness something better to eat," Sirius said sarcastically. "It's not as if I can walk into a supermarket and buy whatever I want!" 

Buckbeak snorted and prodded the small pile of left-over food Sirius had managed to scrape together. 

The man ignored the hippogriff and turned his attention to his trusted plastic bag. After a few moments of rummaging through it, he took out a nearly-undamaged roadmap, which he'd found at a Muggle gas station, and folded it open. He dug up Fudge's pencil from his pocket (which he'd borrowed to make the crossword) and began marking his route from Morocco up to Waterloo, Belgium. He carefully drew a line from Morocco, eastward towards Egypt (he hadn't been able to resist going there for only a couple of hours, just to be able to say he had been there), then northwards to the "boot" of Italy, Switzerland, a sudden jolt westwards towards France, and then north again to Belgium. He'd seen quite a bit of Europe, he mused. Interesting to tell his grandchildren – "back when granddaddy was an escaped convict…" Or to taunt Remus with – "I have been to Italy and you ha-have no-hot…" Speaking of Remus, hadn't he said something about Waterloo, ages ago? Something about… a guy named Napoleon, and… boots. Wellington boots, or some strange thing like that. Sirius shrugged. Who cared anyway. 

He folded his map up again and stacked it away in his bag. He sneezed again. "Darn, looks like I caught a cold," he scolded. Buckbeak eyed him disdainfully. 

"And don't you look at me like that. It's not my fault we have to camp here in this north-pole wannabe country." His mood was definitely not improving. He shivered. Time for decision-making. Sirius got to his feet. 

"Here's the plan," he told Buckbeak. "I'm going to try and get a few hours of sleep, then we break up camp, I get on your back and you fly the two of us over the Channel to England. Deal?" Buckbeak seemed to understand, and nodded. 

"Fine," Sirius said. He spread out his blanket, rolled in it, dressed and all, and closed his eyes. Moments later, he was asleep.        

* * * * * 

Padfoot you enormous idiot! Don't you DARE come back now! I don't care if there's danger you think you can save us from, or whatever reason you have, you just have to STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!! 

Look, I'm even using three exclamation signs! THAT'S how serious the situation is! 

They are still looking for you! I still see 'wanted'-posters whenever I go to Diagon Alley, they still have 'Sirius Black not yet found'-articles in the Daily Prophet. And it's only worse because of that whole Dark Mark-ordeal at the Quidditch World Cup. The Daily Prophet hints that you may have something to do with it.

Padfoot, you know I'm not someone to beg, but please, please reconsider! You're only putting yourself into danger. 

Of course, if you're still as stubborn a git as you used to be, you're welcome to pay me a visit. And seeing as I probably won't have been able to talk any sense into you, as usual, I'm afraid that I´ll have nothing to do but to await your arrival. Sigh.

_Moony, who's – o c'mon, what a childish way to end a letter!_


	4. Death & an unexpected expected visit

**Quote from the movie "Rosenkranz and Guildenstern are dead", with the ever-great Gary Oldman! I haven't seen it yet, but I intent to…**

**September 1994. **

"Whatever became of the moment when one first knew about death? There must have been one. A moment. In childhood. When it first occured to you that you don't go on forever. It must have been shattering, stamped into one's memory. And yet, I can't remember it."

* * * * * 

Hey, watch who you're calling a stubborn git and an idiot! Or I won't buy you a souvenir… 

Still looking for me? Don't they have something more important to do? It would be obvious that I have nothing to do with that Dark Mark – I've always found it a distasteful thing. I´ll never understand what some people find interesting in snakes.    

Can't really say anything more, but I´ll drop by one of these days, so we'll have time to catch up.

Padfoot.

PS: Childish? You're the one who started it!

* * * * * 

"You do know you can't see, right?" Remus said when he walked into Wulf's room and saw the old man peering at a newspaper. 

"You do know you're being a wise-ass, right?" Wulf answered in the same tone. 

"Are you aware of the fact that one can say an entire sentence without adding a truckload of sarcasm?" Remus asked lightly. He sat down and plucked the newspaper from Wulf´s hands. 

"That was my paper, I was reading it, and yes, I do know that." 

"You weren't reading it because you can't read. You can't see," Remus pointed out. "If you ask really nicely I can read it out for you." 

"Go hang yourself Lupin." 

"I´d rather not." 

Wulf raised an eyebrow. "My, what has happened to the timid little human-wannabe I met a few weeks ago? He's all grown up." He mimicked wiping away a tear. 

"What can I say? One adjusts oneself to ones company." 

"How touching. You really take after me. A father's greatest wish." Wulf grinned.

"I am not your son," Remus said pointedly. Wulf's grin changed into a harking cough that lasted a few minutes. When he had breath again, he said: "well, you're supposed to be my Godson, so you're as good as my son."

"How do you know that?" 

The older man was still wheezing a bit. "Seems like all the Healers are quite taken with you. Calling you 'that charming young man' and so on. Quite annoying."

"Well, looks like being nice pays off after all." Remus ruffled the sheets of the paper.

"Just read, okay?" Wulf snapped. His right hand was plucking the blanket again. Remus was used to it by now and paid no attention. 

"What do you want to know?" 

"Is there anything about that Dark Mark?" 

Remus sighed, but obeyed. He'd hoped to avoid the Mark for a few hours, but there was no escaping. He read out the main article on the front page (nothing really new), then continued, on Wulf's request, with the second page, which was always filled with small news, mostly about some poor witch or wizard being mauled by some hideous creature. 

"Don't tell me you actually enjoy this," he said, disgusted, after reading about a wizard who had been found dead after being half-eaten by a griffin. 

"Well, actually – " Wulf began, but he was interrupted by a Healer, who walked into the room with a goblet of something foul-smelling in his hand. Wolfsbane. 

"Mr Talbot!" he exclaimed. "What did we tell you? You need your rest!" He glared at Remus. "Mr Lupin, I had expected better of you." 

"Yes, bad Remus," Wulf smirked. "How dare you." 

"Don't try and blame someone else, Mr Talbot," the Healer chided. "Now, you are going to drink this, then I´ll check on your wound, and then you go to sleep. And we'll have no discussion about that!" 

To Remus' surprise, Wulf didn't make any objections. He wearily accepted the goblet and drank its contends in a few large gulps. He shivered. "Disgusting." 

"We know," the Healer shushed. "Now, I´ll just get new bandages for your hand. I´ll be right back." Wulf merely nodded, tiredly. 

"What's up with you?" Remus wanted to know when they were alone. "You're so quiet all of a sudden." 

"I'm in a hospital. I just had to drink the most disgusting potion ever invented. I'm dying, you freak," Wulf said, with only half of his usual snarl. It still hit as hard though. "Am I allowed to be quiet or what?" 

"Well sorry for asking!" Wulf had the amazing gift of irking Remus with a mere comment. 

The Healer returned and started to take the bandage off Wulf's hand. The old man barely react, save for an involuntary flinch when he smelled the stench of the infected wound. 

Remus couldn't help his curiosity, and he watched interestedly how the Healer slowly uncovered the wound. When he saw it, however, he had to back away and cover his mouth, swallowing heavily. 

It wasn't just the smell of it – although it was twice as bad for a werewolf's sharp nose. But Wulf's hand looked as if it was rotting away before his eyes. The cut itself wasn't that spectacular, barely an inch long. Greenish… goo was oozing out of it. The palm was nearly black, and the veins in the wrist and the lower arm were dark-purple, nearly black. 

Remus got closer, still with his hand over his nose. He was fascinated by this, he'd never seen silver poisoning before. 

"Does it hurt?" he asked curiously. 

"It's just a scratch," Wulf shrugged, then he laughed his coughing laugh. And Remus couldn't help it, he had to grin as well. It was pretty funny, come to think of it. 

"No, it doesn't hurt," Wulf said. "I don't feel it at all anymore."

"You mean its dead?" Remus gasped.

"Well, yes." 

The Healer had finished unwrapping the old bandage and cleaning the wound, and he now started bandaging it again. He paid no attention to the conversation. 

"Couldn't they've amputated it?" 

"Would've been useless," Wulf shrugged. "There's no amputating against silver poisoning, it goes too fast. Right?" The Healer nodded his consent. Remus noticed he was breathing shallowly through his mouth, as to not inhale the stench. He wrapped up the hand and tied the loose end up. 

"Well, that's done," he sighed, straightening himself up again. Remus had the impression that the Healer was mentally wiping his foreheads and congratulating himself that it was over.  

"Mr Lupin?" 

"Hm?" Remus was woken from his reverie. "Sorry?"

"I'm sorry, but I think you should go now." Remus glanced through the window and saw that it was already getting darker outside. He needed to be home before the moon got up; it was full moon tonight. 

"Yes, sure." He got up from his chair and patted Wulf on the shoulder. "See you in two days." 

"I thought I couldn't see?" Wulf said. 

"You know what I mean." Remus rolled his eyes. "Now, be nice, okay?" 

"Hmm." Wulf pulled a face, but Remus ignored it. "Anything else?" 

"Uhm," Remus thought out loud. "Oh, don't die, please." 

"I´ll see what I can do," Wulf growled. His mood had swung to 'bad' again. "Now get out, and stop bothering me." 

Remus obeyed. 

~*~

The next morning, Remus groggily climbed the stairs on hands and knees, and somehow managed to climb into bed. His last conscious thought was to, this time really, seriously, swear-I-will-do-it, send a letter of thanks to Severus Snape. Then he fell asleep. 

~*~

Hours later, he found himself sitting at his kitchen table, staring moodily at a cup of coffee. The damps were gently teasing his nostrils, waking him up more by the minute. His mind was on the letter of thanks he was going to write Snape. He'd wanted to write such a letter for a few months now, but had somehow never done it. 

A tapping cut through his thoughts. He looked up, saw the owl with a letter in his beak, and immediately knew what was wrong.

"Shit." 

~*~

"I though I said you weren't supposed to die?" Remus tried to keep the atmosphere light. But this time, Wulf didn't bite back. 

The old man was lying tiredly back in his pillows. He turned his head towards Remus, who could see that Wulf was trying to say something, but there was no sound coming out of his mouth. His breath was going in ragged wheezes. His left hand was lying limply on the sheets, and his right hand, usually nervously fidgeting, could barely stroke the sheets. An alarmclock-like instrument was standing on Wulf's bedside table, and a light-red wire, much like a telephone's wire, went from the top of the instrument inside Wulf's pyjama top. 

Remus sat down next to his Alpha's bed. The man beckoned him closer, and when Remus had bent over, Wulf managed to whisper: "you told me I wasn't to die. I'm not dead yet." He laughed soundlessly, gasping. 

"What's that?" Remus asked, nodding to the red wire. Wulf gestured weakly with his right hand. 

"It's – an alarm," he whispered. "Tells the Healers…" he gasped for breath, "when they can start celebrating." 

"That's not funny," Remus said. 

"I know it isn't," Wulf replied. "That's why it's called black humour." 

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. The only sound was that of Wulf´s breathing, still in wheezes, cutting through the silence. 

"What happened to you?" Remus asked finally. "Last time I saw you, you were pretty much okay." 

"The Change," Wulf muttered. "Was too hard. Poisoning… to my lungs. Dying." He fell silent again, his eyes closed, chest heaving. 

Remus slowly scooted closer, until he was leaning with his elbows on the bed. He waited until Wulf was breathing slowly again, then he hesitantly started to speak. 

"You know, there's… there's something I've always wondered…" he began. But Wulf cut him off before he had been able to properly finish his sentence.

"Don't." 

"Don't do what?" 

"I know what you – what you want to ask," Wulf whispered. "Don't ask it." 

"How do you know what I want to ask?" Remus asked, a little irritated. 

"Because I asked it myself." It came out so softly it was barely audible. "And – and you won't… like the answer." 

"Try me." But Wulf shook his head, tiredly, his eyes closed. 

"Please?" Remus begged. "I really want to know." The old man on the bed sighed. He shook his head slowly, but seemed to resign. It appeared to be more because he was too tired to argue than because he wanted to. 

"What is it?" 

"I – " Remus suddenly hesitated. This was it. "Why did you bite me?" 

"Bad luck." Wulf let out a quivering sigh. His right hand, which had laid still the past few minutes, started fidgeting again. 

Remus blinked. "That's it? Bad luck?"  

"Can't make anything more of it… I told you you weren't going to like it."

Remus could feel he was getting angry. "But what were you doing there in that forest? Didn't you know there were people living there? Why were you outside anyway?" 

Wulf´s hand suddenly lashed out and grabbed Remus by his shirt. With amazing strength, he pulled Remus closer. "Haven't you ever ran around freely? Smelled the scents of a forest on a summer night? The feeling of running, of following a trail through the undergrowth…" He was wheezing now, gasping for breath. "Moonlight… don't tell me you've never… never…" Wulf breathed the last words. His blind eyes were wide-open, staring at Remus' face. 

Remus slowly and carefully pushed the old man back on his bed. He pried the fingers from his shirt. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have asked." 

"Have you ever done that?" Wulf continued. He didn't seem to have heard Remus' comment. "It's the most wonderful… feeling…I thought there was no one around… I didn't know…" 

His hand suddenly reached for his chest, and he started coughing, gasping for breath. Almost at the same time, the alarmbell started ringing violently. Before Remus knew exactly what was going on, the room was filled with Healers. One was pushing him back while two others started resuscitating Wulf. 

"Don't worry, Mr Lupin," said the Healer who'd pushed him back. "He'll be alright." Remus wasn't so sure about this. Wulf was struggling for breath, arching his back, his eyes bulging. It was a very unpleasant sight. Remus suddenly became aware of his own easy breathing, and he unconsciously touched his own throat with his hand. 

After a few minutes, Wulf´s breathing eased again. The Healers carefully checked the alarmclock, making sure the wire was still attached. They debated softly about something Remus couldn't hear, but left without changing anything. 

Remus slowly returned to his seat next to the bed. He sat down silently. Wulf was breathing heavily. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. Were it not for his breathing, he would've seemed dead. 

"I'm sorry," Remus whispered. He didn't know what for, but he felt he had to say it anyway. Wulf turned his face towards Remus. He slowly opened his eyes, and, to Remus' surprise, a weak smile was playing around the corners of his lips. 

"Only fools are sorry for what they are," he whispered. "I've never been sorry for being – " a gasp of breath " – a werewolf. I've only been sorry for what I've done to… others." His hand was reaching for his chest again, and he was wheezing. 

"You shouldn't talk so much," Remus said. He felt a lump in his throat. "Maybe I – shall I get a Healer?" But Wulf shook his head. 

"Don't." He smiled again, a tired, small smile. "I've tried – to – come up with – impressive last words. Didn't work." 

"'Don't worry, I'm sure this works' is pretty high on the list, but not really appropriate for this situation," said Remus. He was amazed he was able to joke on a time like this. Wulf seemed to appreciate it though.

"I think I´ll – settle for – 'well I´ll be damned. They – got me after all'." He laughed silently. 

"I´ll write that down," Remus answered, smiling sadly. Wulf nodded. He had closed his eyes, and his breathing got ragged again. His hand was clutched at his chest. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asked. He got to his feet. "Shall I get someone?" The older man was shaking his head. His mouth was open, and he was now gasping for breath. He had opened his eyes, and they were moving feverishly from left to right, as if searching for help. Remus started to panic. 

"Wulf?" The other man didn't react. Remus kicked his chair back and started towards the door, but suddenly stopped. He looked at his Alpha.

Wulf had fallen back into his pillows. His eyes were open, his hand relaxed on his chest. The room was silent, there was no sound, no ragged breath, no wheezing. Nothing.

Then the alarmclock started ringing loudly.  

~*~

The light of the setting sun fell through the windows, bathing the kitchen in a golden light. The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the wind through the trees outside, and a few singing birds. 

Remus was alone, sitting at his kitchen table, staring at the bowl of soup he'd made himself. It was stone-cold; he hadn't touched it. He knew he had to eat something, the last time he had eaten something was this morning, at breakfast, but he couldn't get himself to actually pick up his spoon. 

This afternoon, he had seen someone die. It was the first time he had actually seen someone struggle for live, for breath, the first time he had seen a body give up. It made him feel slightly queasy, and, though it sounded unoriginal, it had suddenly and drastically changed his perspective on things. It had made him stop and think about his own live. 

Monster walked into the kitchen through the cat-flap Remus had finally installed. The animal purred softly and started gnawing the hem of Remus' trousers, but the man ignored him. Monster huffed and scooted out of the room again. He even managed to do it disdainfully. 

Remus was left alone until well after dark. The clock had just struck half past nine when the silence was broken by a hard knocking on the front door. 

Knocking is perhaps a bit too soft – it sounds as if someone is trying to bring the door down! Remus thought irritably. He had wanted to be left alone, but someone had decided against that. He walked quickly to the door and yanked it open, ready to verbally cut someone in pieces. 

"What – " he started aggressively. He had wanted to finish it with "the hell do you think you're doing", but was cut off by someone who was rushing into his house. The doorknob was pulled out of his hand, and the door was slammed shut before he had time to react. 

"Sorry 'bout that, but I think someone spotted me. There was this guy walking his dog and I think he saw Buckbeak flying over. I tried to stay as hidden as I could, but there's always this one small chance…I'm leaving as soon as I can, I just need to drop this off, can you keep this with you?" Remus got a plastic bag filled with – things pressed in his hands. "Good, oh, can I get some food? Wait, I´ll get it, don't worry, there's your kitchen I believe. Be right back." 

The kitchen door slammed shut. Remus blinked. He was standing in his hallway, in the dark, with a plastic bag with old papers and other stuff in his hands, and in his kitchen, opening the cabinets and taking stuff out, was – just like he'd promised… 

He unceremoniously dropped the plastic bag on the floor and walked into the kitchen. Sirius was hastily stuffing noodles from a bowl into his mouth. It looked as if he hadn't eaten properly in days. His cheeks were bulging and he was bent over the bowl like a dog. He hadn't even taken the time to sit down. 

"Sirius!" Remus exclaimed. Sirius turned around and swallowed a mouthful of noodles. 

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry about all that."  

But Remus shook his head. "Don't apologise. What happened? Where have you been? How are you doing? What are you doing here?" Suddenly, the words and questions seem to come out of his mouth like a cascade. Sirius continued stuffing food in his mouth, meanwhile giving muffled answers in chopped-up sentences.  

"Hungry," he said, "Voldemort back, Harry sent me a letter, in Morocco, came back, Dumbledore wrote me as well – " He swallowed and immediately refilled his mouth, " – Quidditch World Cup, Dark Mark, these are good noodles, oh, disappearance of a Muggle and a Ministry witch, been reading the Daily Prophets – " 

This would not do. Remus walked towards the eating Sirius, gently took him by the shoulder – at least he gained some weight since last June – and pressed him down on a chair.  

"First you're going to eat," he said firmly. "Answering questions can come later." Sirius nodded gratefully. He mimicked drinking, and Remus went to get a glass of water.

It was a strange situation, and certainly not how he had imagined it. Sirius ate another bowl of noodles, a bowl of warmed-up soup, and three sandwiches Remus had made. All this in an amazing speed. Remus once warned his friend that he would surely get a stomach-ache, but Sirius shrugged and continued eating. After twenty minutes of wolfing down food, Sirius finally stopped, sighed, and sat back. 

"Sorry," he repeated. "I simply haven't eaten properly in days, and although Buckbeak can catch animals, my idea of a nice dinner isn't really ripped-apart cats and all that." 

"I'm gonna make you some food you can take with you," Remus said immediately, and he got to his feet. Sirius jumped up too. "Don't bother yourself! Really, I just walked in here, pretty much ate everything you have, you shouldn't give me something extra." 

Remus pushed him back on his chair. "No argument about it." He turned around and started pulling his cabinets open, in search for food that was easy to take with you. "Just tell me what you're doing here." 

Sirius told him. Everything. From what had happened when Remus had changed into a werewolf on the Hogwarts ground until his arrival at Remus' cottage. Halfway through his story, Remus had finished making a pile of sandwiches, which he had wrapped and packed into an old rucksack he had found. Sirius followed him through his house, telling more and more while he was looking for stuff Sirius could use. Finally, another twenty minutes later, they were back in Remus' kitchen. 

"You do now you're being an idiot, and you're playing with your life, right?" Remus asked. Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes. 

"Dumbledore and Harry told me as much," he said. "Well, not in those exact words…I know." 

"Good, just wanted to check that," Remus said shortly. He hung the rucksack on Sirius' shoulders. "There you go." 

Sirius suddenly flashed his trademark-grin. "I really missed that, you know." 

"Missed what?" 

"Someone telling me I'm an idiot and knowing I´d do something stupid anyway. And not by all means trying to keep me from it." 

"Well, I´d love to keep you from going back to Scotland. If it were up to me, I´d lock you up in my basement until you were old and grey, but I know it's no use anyway," Remus smiled. "So I might as well try and help you get out of your ridiculous plan as unhurt as possible." 

Sirius grabbed Remus by the shoulders and gently shook him. "You are my life-saver. No, my saint. My god!" 

"Yes, yes, alright." Remus couldn't help but laugh. "Cut the melodrama. Get out of here, or I´ll turn you in to the Ministry." 

"Would you?" 

"Well, I can use the money…"  

Sirius pretended to scowl. "So much for friendship!" He opened the door and carefully peered outside. "Nobody." He took two steps over the threshold and blew sharply on his fingers. Seconds later, Buckbeak landed inelegantly in Remus' front garden. Remus looked apprehensively at the giant wings. 

"How can you fly on an animal like that?" he asked. Sirius shrugged.

"It's not as comfortable as a broomstick, or as cool as a flying motorbike – " he sighed wistfully " – but I got used to it. It's not that bad really." He swung one leg over Buckbeak's back and climbed onto the Hippogriff. 

"I don't think I´ll have time to visit you at Christmas," he said, smiling down at Remus. 

"Well shoot, now I have to rethink my dinner arrangement," Remus joked. "Now I have to find someone else to sit next to my stunning beauty of a niece." 

"Well, maybe I can squeeze it in," Sirius said hastily. Remus frowned.

"Sirius, she's three years old." Sirius shrugged. 

"I'm sure we can find something lovely to talk about." He shifted until he was sitting comfortably. The rucksack was on his back, and in front of him he had two more tattered plastic bags, tied together with a piece of string, each bag on one side. "I really must be going." He touched his temple as if he had a hat on his head. "I´ll write you."

"Yes," Remus replied. He had wanted to say so much more, but couldn't find the words. Sirius softly prodded Buckbeak with his heels, and the animal pushed off from the ground. It took only a few flaps of his wings, then they were high in the sky. Sirius waved one final time.   

Remus looked after them until he couldn't see them anymore, and even a little longer. Then he got inside. 

When he closed his front door, it suddenly seemed as if Sirius had never been there. 

* * * * * 

Padfoot,

Accompanying this letter is another packet of food. I have nothing else to say, save the usual warnings and pleads to stay out of trouble. 

Moony.

PS: did not!


	5. The Werewolf Protest

Bah, I actually feel kind of bad killing of Wulf, I liked the old man... Oh well.  
Well, I was going to make this a short chapter, but I simply cannot write SHORT stories! Hence the length of this chapter...   
Our favourite DADA teacher is in this, yay! So I should consider this a spoiler or something, but I figure you've all read a certain book by now, so I guess I shouldn't mind. When I was writing this, I suddenly got reminded of World War 2, and how the Nazi's slowly made the Jew's lives into a hell. Strange thing is that the Ministry, in my fict, takes pretty much the same approach as the Nazi's did here in the Netherlands; they took it slow, first prohibiting a small thing (not allowed to go into theaters, parks or swimming pools), then another small thing (not allowed to go cycling), until, eventually, they weren't allowed to do ANYTHING. Hmmm...   
All seriousness and Nazi-similarities aside, I finally must note that I had NO idea of, ah, Remus', uhm, future actions when I was writing a certain character in "Remus Lupin". Funny, the way my mind's works, eh?   
For people who've quite forgotten who she is and what she was doing when Remus and she first met, I recommend rereading The chapter "Wolfsbane" of "Remus Lupin". That should do the trick.  
Now, onto the chapter!  
  
**October 1994.**  
_"I know Umbridge´s a nasty piece of work, though – you should hear Remus talk about her."__  
* * * * *   
Thank you! Every night I pray to you: dear Moony, please send me more food, and you almost never fail. You are a life-saver! Please keep sending it, the only alternative is rats, and although it gives me a strange kind of pleasure to be eating Peter's Animagus-form, I can't exactly call them tasty.   
I have finally reached my desired destination, and I found a place to stay (thanks to our old silver-haired friend). So far I have managed to stay out of trouble. I hope this will make you sleep again.   
Padfoot.  
PS: now who's being childish?! _  
* * * * *   
"Could you get a move on?"   
Remus was shoved in the back, just as he looked up from his newspaper. He staggered about a foot forwards, and nearly collided with the person in front of him. He sighed; he'd never liked queues.   
He looked over his shoulder and found a crup staring evilly at him from its safe place in its owners arms. Remus glanced a little higher and found the owner of the animal eyeing him with the same angry stare.   
So pets really do take after their owners, he thought. He gave the man behind him a curt nod and returned to his newspaper. Only eight people before him…   
_"PREPARATIONS FOR TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENTS COMPLETED"_ the headline of the _Daily Prophet _announced. Remus quickly read the article through. He was so jealous at everybody at Hogwarts. The last time there had been a Triwizard Tournament had been way before Remus had even been born. It seemed like a mere legend – and now it was happening at Hogwarts. If only he was still teaching there… He sighed wistfully.   
He got nudged in the back again and he took a few steps forward. Speaking of teaching; he found himself mentally going over his students, thinking about who would be worthy of being the Hogwarts champion. It was a good thing they'd set an age-limit. He briefly imagined how Harry would do at being a champion, but he quickly discarded that thought. Being the Boy Who Lived, and being able to produce a Patronus was one thing (albeit a rather impressive thing), being Triwizard Champion was something different. Although nobody save the Triwizard Tournament organisers knew what tasks the champions had to face, there had been rumours. Most involved fighting a huge, lethal animal, such as a dragon or chimaera.   
He was about to read the main article again, when he was once again nudged, this time rather aggressively. He looked up and saw that there was no one before him.   
"Yes, how may I help you?" the witch behind the counter asked.   
"Uhm, I'm here for the Werewolf Registry," Remus said. "My file – "   
"Name?" she cut him off.  
"Lupin."   
She pointed her wand at a filing cabinet, and one of the drawers opened. A piece of parchment flew out of it into her hand. She caught it with an air that suggested years of experience, and handed it to Remus, along with a pencil.  
"Fill this in, then return it," she said. "Next!"   
Remus was shoved out of the way by the man with the crup in his arms, who immediately embarked on a long-winded story about his pet, and how it behaved so much different than usual.   
Remus stood there for a moment, thinking about where he was going to sit. It was very busy at the Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. He wished he'd remembered to come early in the morning.   
He spotted an empty seat in the row of seats along the wall, and he quickly walked towards it and sat down. _Now, I just have to fill this in quickly, and then it's over for another year_, he thought. _Maybe I can go and visit Diagon Alley this afternoon. See if there are any interesting new books at Flourish and Blotts. But first this. _  
Filling in the form was relatively easily. It merely involved ticking off boxes and filling in his name and address. He remembered, with a painful feeling of sadness, how, last year, he had proudly filled in _'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'_ under address.   
He'd reached the questions about his living conditions (_'how many members does your family have?'_), and had just begun wondering whether a Puffskein could be considered a member of a family, when he glanced to his right. He immediately forgot everything about his family or how many members it had.   
What he saw was nothing more than the same kind of form he had in front of him. It was only filled in half, but it were the drawings in the margins which had drawn his attention. Small, half-finished pencil drawings of the people in the room, quick sketches of the animals. As he was watching, he saw the head of a small child appear. He looked up and saw the same child right in front of him, only a few yards away.   
"Wow," he said. "Those drawings are really good."   
Before he knew, two hands were covering the drawings. He looked up, right into two yellow eyes, about the same colour as his own eyes.   
"Uhm, hi?" he said.  
"Hey." It was said by a young woman who looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn't exactly say where he knew her from. He could see she was a werewolf – apart from the eyes, the form from the Werewolf Registry was a bit of a give-away – so it had to be something werewolf-related. And the tone of her voice indicated she'd recognised him too.   
He figured that asking was always the best way to find something out. "Er, no offence or anything, but do I know you from somewhere? You seem familiar."   
She laughed. "And then I hoped I'd made a lasting impression," she said. "A few years ago, remember? With the development of the Wolfsbane Potion? We were the first to test it."   
His memory gave an almost audible click.  
"Oh, right!" he said. "Of course. You were the one who threw up." Her face fell.   
He mentally slapped his forehead. _Sh*t. Way to go, Remus. You really are the king of tact, aren't you? 'You were the one who threw up', honestly… _  
She laughed embarrasedly. "Uhm, yeah. I was."   
"I'm sorry," he immediately apologised. "I didn't mean it that way." She looked sceptical.   
Remus was frantically racking his memory for her name. He felt so stupid for not remembering it, and he desperately wanted to somehow make up for his comment. Suddenly, his memory seemed to click again. Of course.   
"Lova, isn't it?" he said. "How´re you doing?" She gave a relieved smile.   
"Okay, I guess," she answered. "Updating my file is always less fun, though."   
"Well, when you're done, it's over for another year," he said. "Of course, with your method, it takes far longer than usual…" He noticed that he seemed to be unable to have a normal conversation. Currently, he was sounding as if he was her grandfather or something. He also suddenly noticed that she was wearing a tight, very low-cut shirt. He could almost feel his hormones start raging. Not good.   
She didn't notice anything of this. She held the form in front of her. "Well, they are pretty good, don't you think so?"   
He agreed. "You really are a good drawer."   
"I should be, I do it for a living." She laid the form back on her lap and continued ticking off boxes. Remus focussed on his form as well. He finished before her (well, he hadn't spend half his time on decorating the margins) and he waited until she had filled in the last thing (the date and her signature). They turned in their forms, happy that it was over for another year, then they walked towards the elevators.  
They stood there rather awkwardly next to each other, waiting. Lova was winding and unwinding a long, dark curl around her finger. Remus was slowly rocking on the balls of his feet, sometimes glancing in her direction, and immediately looking the other way when he noticed himself doing it. He felt stupid. He had thought that by now, he had managed to outgrow the feelings of a fifteen-year old, but it apparently merely took a scantily clad woman, and he was emotionally turned upside-down. Quite annoying. On one hand, he felt stupid for feeling this way. On the other hand, he already knew he would feel stupid if he wasn't going to say anything. And a little voice in the back of his head, which sounded strangely much like Sirius' voice, said that one should grab an opportunity when it offered itself. He decided to grab it.   
"D'you want to drink something with me?" he blurted out. "To, uhm, I don't, catch up, or… something…" Lame, Remus, lame… he thought. But she smiled at him.  
"Sure. Any suggestions where?"   
He shrugged, feeling immensely relieved. He tried to ignore mental-Sirius, who was dancing and singing about dirty things he didn't want to think about right now. "Leaky Cauldron? I was planning on visiting Diagon Alley anyway."   
"Okay."   
The elevator arrived, clattering loudly. The two of them got in, and Remus pressed the gold-coloured button to get to the main hall.   
To their surprise, they found the atrium filled with people. And not just an ordinary crowd, but people with signs and banners.   
"What the h-" Lova began. Remus read one of the banners, and he immediately understood what was going on.   
"It's a demonstration," he said.  
"I got that," she replied dryly. "Against what?"   
"Umbridge," he said softly. He saw people holding signs with "we are not animals", "give us a way to live" and even a daring "we are not the monsters here, the Ministry is".   
"Oh no," Lova sighed. "What has she thought up this time?"   
"I don't know," Remus said through clenched teeth, "but no doubt something horrible."   
This wasn't the first time Dolores Umbridge had done something to upset the werewolves. She was fairly new at the Ministry, but had risen fast through the ranks. She was now something important at the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, and had apparently something against what she called 'half-breeds'. Last November, she had begun drafting anti-werewolf laws, slowly making it virtually impossible for them to get a job or make any kind of living whatsoever. And by the sight of it, she had just announced a new restriction.   
Remus stepped forward, wriggling through the mass of curious witches and wizards who had come to see what was going on. As usual nowadays, when there were a lot of werewolves around, there were people handing out leaflets for werewolf-support groups and other Lycantrope-related stuff. Werewolves were almost considered a 'hot item' (they would have been, were it not for the Triwizard Tournament, Quidditch and the events of the last Quidditch Worldcup).   
He stuffed the leaflets that were pressed in his hands, in his pockets, stubbornly walking on. He tapped the first werewolf he reached on his shoulder. "What is going on?"   
The man turned around, at first rather aggressively, but his expression softened when he saw Remus. "Oh, one of us. Umbridge´s at it again."   
"Well, I figured." Love had wriggled herself through the mass of people as well, and had now reached Remus. "What's she done this time?"   
"Here." The other werewolf handed Remus a sheet of parchment. "Got this from the Registry this morning."   
Remus took the sheet and quickly read it through, Lova reading along with him over his shoulder.   
"Basically, it says that, on Umbridge´s order, they are informing everybody's employer that we're werewolves," the other man told them.   
"Basically, it says that a lot of us are going to lose our job," Remus said. He gave the sheet back. "I'm going to kill her."   
"Get in line," the other werewolf commented dryly.   
"And there I was, thinking that there was a slight, slight chance that I was going to get another job," Remus said angrily.   
"At least you won't be fired," the man said, a sad expression on his face. "Unlike me."   
"Well, maybe you can start your own business," Lova tried to lift their spirits. "Then there's no chance that your employer's going to fire your because you're a werewolf."   
"That won't work, because nobody in their right mind would want to sell something to or buy something from a werewolf," their fellow werewolf said. "And you won't be able to get a big enough loan from Gringotts anyway, it's not allowed."   
Remus was about to start ranting about Umbridge, when there was a sudden commotion near one of the walls of the atrium, where the fireplaces were. The people there started waving their banners violently, and the entire group started buzzing with angry excitement.   
"There she is!"   
Remus was suddenly pushed forwards by the people behind him. It got very crowded since everybody was trying to get closer to the fireplaces, to see Umbridge.   
He had no desire to. Romulus, his younger brother, had once had the pleasure to meet her, and he had described her to Remus. Squat, ugly, _pink_, and seemingly perpetually in a mood like poisoned honey.   
Love was pressed against him, and she used her elbows to get a little more room to breath. "Can you see what's going on?" she asked. Remus obediently got on tip-toe, but it didn't really improve his view.   
"Nothing," he said. "There are too many people."   
They suddenly heard other voices join the chorus of werewolves chanting anti-Umbridge yells. Apparently she had got assistance of some kind of guard-wizards. The atmosphere was starting to get tense and violent.   
"Get back or we'll stun you!" Remus heard a man shout. A wave seemed to ripple through the crowd, and everybody suddenly seemed to want back, instead of forward. But in the back, the group had grown, and there wasn't much space for more people.   
_If this goes on any longer, people'll get squashed_, he thought, panicking slightly. He wanted to get out. Love had stopped nudging everybody with her elbows, and grudgingly allowed herself to be pushed this way and that, squeezed against Remus. He was vaguely aware of her angry muttering, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts against his back…   
"Let's get out of here!" she yelled through his thoughts.   
"Best idea you had all morning," he yelled back. "This way, we'd best use the telephonebox, the fireplaces will be impossible to reach." He somehow managed to turn around, and he put an arm around her shoulder. They started to wade through the mass of people.   
Unfortunately enough, they weren't the only ones wanting to leave. A lot of people had decided that the ground had got too hot under their feet, and they began pushing wildly to get towards the telephonebox or one of the fireplaces on the other side of the atrium.   
"This is getting dangerous," Remus said to nobody in particular. People had started to climb into the Fountain of Magical Brethren to avoid being crushed. On the other side, Umbridge had apparently managed to escape the crowd, and the wizards, now no longer guarding her, somehow thought that the best way to calm a group as large as this was randomly stunning people. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand.   
Remus almost got kicked in the head by a little boy, sitting on his father's shoulders, and crying loudly. He was clutching a sign reading "My dad is no monster!"   
Remus had had enough. He gripped Lova firmly around the shoulder. "Hold on," he said. Then he turned ninety degrees until he was walking shoulder-first, and he started whacking himself a way through the crowd.   
It took them another ten minutes until they reached the telephonebox. They squeezed themselves in together with four other people. Remus was the one to slam the door shut, in the face of other people wanting to get in. A witch next to the telephone had dialled the number to get up, and never before had Remus been so happy to stand in the box and see the atrium disappear out of sight.   
~*~  
"I mean, it's ridiculous, , now it's practically impossible for us to get a job! If I hadn't resigned last year, I would've been fired now – " Remus nearly growled.  
"You had a job?" Lova cut in. "You had an actual job?!"   
"Yeah, but – "   
"What did you do?"   
"I taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, but that's beside the point. Listen – " He was unable to finish his sentence. Lova stopped mid-step.   
"You were what?"   
"I taught Defence Against the Dark Arts," Remus repeated. "Is it such a big deal?"   
"Well, I've never heard of a werewolf with such a… big job before," she said, awed.   
"There was one in the Wizengamot once," Remus said.   
"Yeah, but he was bitten after he got in there. And he eventually had to resign," she retorted.   
"Anyway," Remus continued, "who is she to set such laws she's half toad herself, I mean, c´mon, what's she got against werewolves – "Remus was ranting and he knew it. But he couldn't stop himself. Lova was only half-listening as she was leading the way to her 'studio', as she called it (they'd decided the Leaky Cauldron would be too busy and too "anti-werewolf-wizard filled"). She now turned her attention to him, however.  
"How d´you know she's half-toad?" she asked.   
"Well I don't," Remus admitted, "but she looks it."   
"Wow Remus, way to be stereotypical," Lova teased.   
"Well – but – I –" Remus sputtered. Lova cut him of before he could continue his rant.  
"There it is," she said. She pointed to an old building. Some windows were boarded up.   
Remus was amazed that this house was considered fit for living, but Lova determinedly walked to the front door and unlocked it.  
"You coming?"   
The hall was lit by merely more than a bare lightbulb. The stairs creaked. He could hear water dripping somewhere.   
"Do you actually live here?" he said.  
"No, I live here," she replied. She'd unlocked her door, and swung it open with a theatrical gesture. "Táda!"  
"Wow," he whispered. Lova occupied the entire top floor of the house. There were large windows in the ceiling, through which bundles of light fell. There wasn't many furniture in the room; a bed, two couches, looking lonely in a sea of space, and two long tables, cluttered with buckets with paint, marmalade-jars with paintbrushes in them, and loads of other painting-utensils. To the left, there was a small kitchen, towards which Lova now headed.  
"Coffee?" she asked. She pointed to a hatstand on which she had already hung her coat. He followed her example.   
"Uhm, yes." Remus walked towards one of the tables. There was a pile of sketches on it, and he picked up the first sheet. It were merely sketches, nothing really finished, and he couldn't say he had an eye for art, but he could see that this was good, this was really good. Apparently she had been practising drawing rays of light, because the sheet was covered with sketches of her own room bathing in the light coming through the windows.   
"Like it?" Remus jumped. Lova was standing next to him, two cups of coffee in her hand. She handed him one.   
"Oh, yeah," he said. He took a sip of his coffee and nearly burned his tongue. "They're very good."   
"Well, they're only sketches," she shrugged. "I got some finished ones over here." She took him to a corner of the room, where she had stored all her finished paintings. Some were better than the others, but overall they were very good. They almost looked like a photo, except that they were so dreamlike (or sometimes nightmarish) that they could never have been photos. He also noticed that every painting somehow seemed to have a wolf in it. When he said something about that, she said: "I don't really plan it. It's just something that happens. Anyway, I sell mostly to Muggles, and there's a growing interest in nature and the supernatural. They call it the new age or something." She shrugged. "As long as I can sell."   
"Anything to make a living, right?" Remus pointed to another painting. "A self-portrait?" Indeed, the painting showed Lova, holding a brush in her hand and looking directly at the viewer.   
"Yeah, in a mirror," Lova explained. "I wanted to try how it would work out."   
"It's looks great," Remus said. He meant it. "Ever thought of making it move?"   
"Yes, once, for five seconds, then I decided that there was enough of me already, and I didn't need a moving, talking picture of myself."   
The clock on the wall struck half past five. Remus jumped and looked on his watch. Idiot, same time of course.   
"I got to go," he said. He put on his coat and hung his scarf around his neck while she carefully put her paintings back. Then she lead him to the door and opened for him. He stepped onto the landing.   
"I´ll be seeing you?" he said, an unintentional question mark at the end of his sentence.   
"Okay," she said. "Maybe this time we can really catch up." She grinned.   
He didn't grin back. Instead, without really realising what he was doing, he bowed forward and kissed her on the lips.  
She kissed back, hard and daring.   
~*~  
"Stupid things!"   
Sirius threw the stones to the other end of the cave and glared at Buckbeak, who glared right back. Then Sirius took to glaring to the small pile of dry leaves and branches. At least that didn't glare back.   
For the past two hours, he had tried making a fire, and he now realised how easy life was with a wand. Rubbing two sticks together didn't work, twisting a stick on a small piece of wood didn't work, banging two stones together didn't work, trying to shoot fire out of his eyes didn't work…   
"Time for extreme measures," he announced. "I want to get warm _today_." He took one of his trusted plastic bags and rummaged around, until he found a small box with a swallow on it. _Allumettes_, it said with red letters. Sirius figured that that was French for matches.   
He opened the box and took out one match, then he tried to remember how Lily had lit one. It had been on a Christmas. She had lit candles, and James had excitedly told his fellow Marauders how she had done it, not with her wand but with small pieces of wood. Then Lily had had no choice but to show them all how it worked. At the end of the evening the entire house had been filled with burning candles – and the table was covered with burned matches.  
Sirius vaguely remembered scratching the match against the brownish side of the box, and he tried it a few times. Then he turned the match around and scratched with the red, thicker side of the match. To his surprise and relieve, a flame burst from the head.   
"Alleluia," he said. "Let there be light!" Careful not to drop the match, he held it to a piece of paper, which immediately burst into flames. Then he blew the match out and laid the burning paper on the branches. Soon enough, a small fire was flickering.   
Buckbeak watched it apprehensively, but he noticed the warmth, and he scooted closer. Sirius held his hands above the fire, nearly burning them, but he didn't care. He made a mental note to write to Dumbledore and beg for a wand – there had to be an easy, inconspicuous way to get one for him, right? After all, he could hardly walk into Olivander´s and buy one…  
He got to his feet and took out his blanket, which he folded neatly. Then he laid it on the ground and sat down on it. He might as well make himself comfortable.  
Speaking of comfortable – this cave hardly was. "I should start collecting things again," he muttered, looking around. "Merlin knows how long I'm going to stay here."   
He sighed. Suddenly, being Harry Potter's Godfather seemed like the hardest job around.   
* * * * *   
_Thanks for being so worried about my sleep. I can assure you that everything is alright as far as that is concerned. As for your diet – rats?! Ew! The minute I read that, I started searching my own supplies for something more tasteful. I trust you've found it by now. __  
Keep praying, and, oh, keep out of trouble – as usual.  
Your personal god.  
PS: may I remind you of your very 'mature' behaviour when you were, say, seventeen? I am not half as immature as you were then._


	6. Life with Lova

**In this chapter, there's a mention of the book ****Alone in the World by Hector Malot. I don't know whether that's the proper English title - I translated it from the Dutch title. Perhaps you know the story; about the orphan Remi who travels with Signor Vitalis and his monkey Mr Joli-Coeur and three dogs. A real tearjerker.   
I noticed that I wrote The Quibbler in this chapter. Everybody seems to do that now book 5 has mentioned it, so it's a bit unoriginal. I'm not sure if I'm gonna do it again...  
There's also a little injoke in this - I was writing this and listening to a cd (as sual). First I listened to the soundtrack of Dracula (and instantly added bats everywhere), but after that, I listened to the soundtrack of The Nightmare Before Christmas. And of course, I hád to add a song and three characters in my fict... It's a wonderful, wonderful movie... extra points to those who "get" the characters.   
Right, that was everything I wanted to say, I guess. Oh, wait. The quote's from Star Wars Episode 2. That really was everything.  
Onto the chapter! Enjoy...**

**October 31/November 1, 1994**

_"Just being around her is… intoxicating." _

_* * * * *_

_"Ew" is exactly the word I´d use to describe the taste of rats. So I beg you, please don't let me down and send me more food – if you can spare some, that is. I read about that horrible Umbridge-creature-woman. Want me to scare the living daylights out of her? Just need to say it and it's done. Having the reputation of being evil has its advantages._

_On an entire different matter; do you know an easy way to get a wand, even if it is a second-hand one? They took mine thirteen years ago, and frankly, living without one is sheer torture. I also asked our dearest Headmaster, so don't trouble yourself with searching too hard for it. I was just wondering. _

_Padfoot._

_PS: hey! This wasn't about my behaviour, thankyouverymuch! I've outgrown such childish things (why do I suddenly have the feeling that, right now, you're looking very sceptical, and you're not believing me? Strange…)._

_* * * * * _

He could only see an red-orange blur in front of his eyes. The colour seemed to change, seemed to darken, but when he tried to focus on it, the colours escaped and turned lighter again.

Remus opened his eyes, and now he saw blue instead of orange. The sky overhead was bright and almost cloudless. A tiny aeroplane flew over, coming from or going to Heathrow Airport. It left long white lines in the sky. 

A soft scraping sound to his right made him turn his head. Lova was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, reading a magazine. She was dressed in a faded pink bathrobe (which didn't cover her breasts completely, he thought with a grin). Every time she turned a page of the magazine, the pages scraped against a fold in the bedsheet, making a soft scratching sound. 

She'd noticed him looking at her, because she said, without looking up: "if you're awake, you might as well make some breakfast." 

He rolled on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows as well, until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with her. "Can I have you for breakfast?" he asked, smiling innocently. 

This time she did look up, and she laughed. "I´d be terrible for your digestion." 

"Hmm, let me try." He kissed her, tracing her mouth with the tip of his tongue. "Not too bad here." He gave small kisses all over her face ("mmm"), then he rolled her on her back (the magazine protested with loud creaking but neither of them cared) and continued kissing her down her throat. 

Fifteen minutes later, he had reached her ankles. Lova was, by now, lying sprawled on the bedcovers, flushed. He crawled back to her top of the bed. He gave a teasing lick over her navel along the way, and she squirmed. 

"You know, I really don't think you'd be that bad," Remus said once he'd got face-to-face with her. "You taste fine to me." 

She tried to say something but didn't seem to be able to form coherent sentences. He grinned.

"Tea and some sandwiches?" he asked.

"What?" The sudden change of subject startled her.

"For breakfast. Since I apparently can't have you." 

"Oh, right, sure." He could see her mind still wasn't really on the subject of breakfasts. He couldn't help but grin. He liked her best when she was like this: sprawled on the bed, naked, his. 

Remus climbed off the bed. "Be right back." In a few steps, he had crossed the floor and reached the dingy kitchen, and he began making breakfast. This wasn't the first time he was using the kitchen, and he almost blindly knew where to find plates, bread, teabags. 

He had been living here for almost two weeks now. It had been a bit of a rash decision, made in less than 24 hours, but so far he hadn't regretted it. Living with Lova was so much… different from his own dull life. She had the strange gift of making the smallest, most common things seem like an adventure. He had the feeling he lived a more exciting life around her. When he was here, in her strange, bohemian apartment, the world outside seemed to have stopped existing. 

Remus glanced in her direction. Lova had rolled back on her stomach and was flipping through her magazine again. She was swinging her feet in an endearing, child-like way. 

He piled some cheese sandwiches on a plate, managed to pick up both the plate, two teacups and the teapot, and carefully made his way back to the bed. Monster noticed food was ready, and he crept from under the bed to demand his share. It had taken him only half an hour to find out that paint wasn't edible (apart from his aching stomach, Lova had told him so in no uncertain terms), and now he stuck to normal food. 

"Here you are, Lo," Remus said, handing Lova her tea.

"Thanks, Re," she hit the ball back, sitting upright and accepting the cup of tea. "Did your mother like Alone in the World?" 

"I'm not named after Remi, but after Remus, the founder of Rome. Well, the twin brother of the founder, actually." He took a sip of his tea and wriggled his toes. "Why did your parents name you Lova?" 

She shrugged. "Liked the name, I guess. Hey, did you know that the French are using the Triwizard Tournaments, through Beauxbatons, to invade England?" 

"Er, no. Should I?" 

"Oh, and Umbridge´s a weretoad, but you obviously knew that already." 

He raised both his eyebrows. "Do I even want to know where you go that from?" 

She didn't answer, but showed him the cover of her magazine. He groaned.

"Don't tell me you actually read The Quibbler." Lova shrugged again.

"They got pretty funny stories." 

Remus didn't respond. He thought there was a definite difference between "funny" and "downright stupid and made-up", but he didn't want to argue about it. Monster had finished the breadcrusts Remus had laid on the floor, and the furry animal now began gnawing softly on Remus' toes. It gave a strange, softly tickling feeling. Remus shook his toes to get the animal off. 

"What are you going to do today?" he asked Lova. She had been emerged in her magazine again, but she raised her head to look at him. 

"Finishing that painting I've been working on all week. Why?" 

Now it was his time to shrug. "No reason. Do you want me to go shopping?" 

"Oh, yes, if you would. Make sure to buy something with pumpkins, it's Halloween after all." 

"Oh, right, of course." He had forgotten. Halloween. Out of sheer habit, he went over everything that had happened on Halloween. James and Lily died. Harry defeated Voldemort. Was it only last year that Sirius cut the Fat Lady to pieces? It seemed much longer ago… 

"What's wrong?" Lova interrupted. "Don't you like Halloween?" 

"Sure, I like it," he said, a bit hesitantly. "But I have some bad associations with it… friends of mine… died on Halloween." 

"I'm sorry," she said. He couldn't tell whether she meant it or if it was just politeness. He discovered he didn't really care. He got to his feet. 

"Well, I best be going, before the crowd comes and there are no pumpkins left." 

"Don't forget to dress first." 

He looked down. "Oh, right." 

~*~

It appeared there was no avoiding the crowd. Diagon Alley was positively packed with people, everybody was trying to get some last decorations or sweets. The owners of the shops didn't help much: trying to earn as much money as possible on the holiday itself, they were selling pretty much everything on a discount price. This year, decorations with small bats on them were especially popular, and before the end of the afternoon Remus had got sick with the small winged animals. They reminded him too much of Snape. 

For a moment, he played with the idea of buying underwear with tiny bats on them and sending them to the Potions Master ("Of course, I don't mean anything with it, but…"), but he didn't want Sirius to find out – he would never let Remus live with the fact that he bought underwear for Snape. Speaking of Sirius, Remus couldn't resist buying a large, warm, comfortable scarf for his best friend – a scarf decorated with bats of course. 

Around five o'clock it was starting to get dark, and it was cold, so Remus decided it was time to get home. At the last moment, he remembered he was supposed to buy a pumpkin, so he ran into a vegetable store and managed at the last moment to buy one. It was a bit battered, but so was the rest of his stuff, and they would throw it away after a week anyway. 

He left the magical world through the Leaky Cauldron and walked towards Lova´s flat. The sun had set completely, and the street lanterns were lit, casting an orange light that fitted perfectly with Halloween. On his way home, Remus saw that Halloween wasn't just a wizard holiday. Many Muggles were celebrating it as well, all the more enthusiastic because it fell on a Saturday. Several front-yards were decorated with pumpkins or paper skeletons, and he met quite a few people on their way to parties, dressed up as witches (albeit very clumsy) and monsters (even a werewolf with a plastic head and a pair of wolf-paw slippers for feet). 

He passed three children dressed up as a witch, a devil and a small skeleton singing a song ("this is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night…") and swinging pumpkin-shaped lampoons (thank god no bats). The moment he passed them, they screamed "trick or threat!" and burst into an almost hysterical giggle. 

Remus ignored them and walked towards Lova´s house. He unlocked the door and got in. 

She was sitting on the sofa, barefoot. She had stretched out one leg and was sketching her foot. The whole room smelled of paint and varnish. 

"I'm back," he said, putting his shopping-bag down on the table.

"I noticed," she replied, continuing sketching.

"Then you aren't blind." Remus began storing things away. 

"I know. Good thing too, eh?" 

"Hmm." He stored the pumpkin on one of the long tables for later decoration and began making dinner. He might be a mediocre potion maker, he was a pretty good cook, even though he said so himself, and he had always enjoyed cooking. At least it didn't involve poisonous ingredients that could explode. Lova was using this for her advantage: she always let him cook for the two of them. 

She had begun sketching her other foot. It was such a curious sight that Remus had to ask. "What are you doing anyway?" 

"I found out I wasn't good at drawing feet," she muttered. "So I'm practising." That made sense. 

About twenty minutes later, dinner was ready (nothing special, a simple salad, rice and chicken). Remus handed Lova her plate and sat down on a stool at one of the long tables. 

"It was horrible finding a pumpkin, by the way," Remus said conversationally. "Diagon Alley was packed." 

"Hmhm," Lova said around a mouthful of rice. She managed to balance her plate on her lap and her sketchbook on her drawn-up knee, and had continued sketching.

"Do you always draw?" Remus wanted to know. Lova swallowed.

"Yep. Always have done, always will do. It's compulsive. Why? Do you feel neglected? Want me to draw you?" 

"Well, I, uhm –" 

She had already turned around so that she was facing Remus (the plate wobbled dangerously), her pencil at the ready. "Well? I can make you a nice portrait." 

"Just like this, you mean?" Remus gestured towards his plate, the cluttered table.

"Sure, why not?" She put the tips of her index fingers against the tips of her thumbs, making a rectangle. "'Remus eating rice'. Could make millions." 

Remus laughed. He stood up and went to sit next to her on the sofa. "No, seriously. Would you paint me?" 

She nodded. "Hmhm. We can begin now, if you like."

"Okay." He put his plate on an old crate that served as a coffee table (an old label said the crate once contained frames for paintings). "Go ahead." He drew up his knees and turned so that he was facing her, and waited expectantly. 

"Just a minute." She stuffed the last rice and chicken in her mouth and shoved her plate under the sofa (where Remus would find it a week later, covered with a white-green mould). "Okay, there we go. I must warn you though, I make a lot of sketches and the result always turns out different." 

"I don't care," he said. "Draw." 

Lova put the point of her pencil on her paper and began sketching.

~*~

"Were you actually going to do something with that pumpkin?" 

Remus looked up from his part of the Sunday Prophet. "What? Oh. That pumpkin. Er, I dunno. Were you?" 

Lova tossed the pumpkin in the air and caught it again. "Not sure. I´ll think of something." She sat down and picked up the first part of the Sunday Prophet. She spread it all over the bed and began reading.

"Aren't you finished with that one yet?" Remus asked. "I´d like to read it as well." 

"Hush," she muttered. "There's nothing interesting in it anyway." 

"Can I judge for myself?" 

"There's just stuff about that Triwizard Tournament… wanna know who the Champions are?" 

"Sure," Remus answered, only mildly interested. He didn't even take the effort of looking up from the page he was reading (the horoscopes, 'What do the Stars have in store for YOU?'. Apparently he was supposed to spend more time with his loved ones, he would have some financial luck and there would be problems at work. What work?). 

"Okay, here we go," Lova continued. "Beauxbatons…is a girl named Fleur Delacour. Durmstrange has got Viktor Krum, naturally." 

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Naturally? The Triwizard isn't about playing Quidditch." 

"Nah, but still… Oh, and Hogwarts, of course. Cedric Diggory – " 

Remus smiled. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff Prefect ánd Quidditch Captain. Perfect choice for the Champion.

" – and Harry Potter. Is the hosting school allowed to have two champions?" 

"No," Remus began answering the question. "Not that I know. But perhaps they've cha-" he suddenly realised what she had said, and he stopped mid-sentence. "What was that last name?" 

"Harry Potter. Why?" 

Remus just stared.

~*~

Sirius had discovered Hippogriffs could catch colds. Normally (ha, as if his life was normal), he would find this funny. Not now, however. The problem with Hippogriffs with a cold was, namely, that they got in a bad mood. And if they had to live in a draughty, cold cave, they got in a very bad mood. 

"At least he's smart enough to understand that attacking and killing me is a bad idea," Sirius muttered. He was wrapped in his blanket and staring and the cold fireplace. He didn't allow himself to make a fire during the day, so that it would look less suspicious. It was a good idea, of course, but it was the first of November and it was ice-cold. And it would only get colder. 

He sniffed and drew the blanket tighter around him. He hoped Hippogriff-colds weren't infectious for humans, the last he could use now was a cold. He shivered and look expectantly to the sky. He hadn't had a letter in ages. Dumbledore apparently had had nothing interesting to say, and neither had Harry. For some reason, Remus had stopped writing as well, even though he was usually the one who wrote the most. So much for friendship… Sirius would never have guessed he would be so anxious to get mail. 

Of course, when you want something really bad, you get it most of the time. Sirius jumped to his feet, suddenly energetic, when he saw three owls flying towards his cave. They landed deftly on a rock and started hooting, each one anxious to give his letter first. Sirius untied all the letters (well, two letters and a package). He immediately recognised the handwriting of Dumbledore, Harry and Remus. Well, that's a coincidence. 

Remus' and Harry's owl (not Hedwig, but a large barn one) took off immediately, but the Headmaster's owl waited patiently. Apparently it was a 'reply immediately'-message. 

Sirius opened Dumbledore's letter first. It wasn't really long, but it was certainly interesting. Dumbledore told him that yesterday, the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament had been chosen. Much to everybody's surprise, Harry was one of them – despite the age limit that had been set. Dumbledore suspected that someone else had put Harry's name in, and he didn't mean one of the students. He didn't have a clue as to who it could be, but he wanted Sirius to know anyway. 

He also said that he would contact Mr Olivander to see if there was an inconspicuous way to get Sirius a wand. Sirius took out his pencil and wrote a few words on the back of Dumbledore's letter and tied it to the paw of the owl again. The animal flew away, and Sirius opened the second letter, Harry's letter. 

__

_Dear Sirius,_

_You told me to keep you poster on what's going at Hogwarts, so here goes – I don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year and on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don't know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't. the other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff._

_Hope you're OK, and Buckbeak – Harry.___

It was old news (well, five minutes old anyway), but it worried Sirius all the same. If both Dumbledore and Harry said something was wrong, then it definately _was _wrong. Nobody knew who put Harry's name in the Goblet, but Sirius wouldn't be too surprised if the person who had done it, was somehow connected with Voldemort, Peter Petigrew and the events at the Quidditch Worldcup. 

He growled at the letter. There was just no easy living for him, was there? He picked up Remus' letter-with-package and hoped that his friend had better news. 

Remus didn't have news, but he did have a gift. Sirius raised his eyebrows when he unwrapped the package: a large scarf with bats on them. Well, it wasn't so much a scarf, more a tablecloth-wannabe. It was more than six feet long and about 2 feet wide. Sirius immediately wrapped it around his neck and his head, enjoying the warmth. Remus was forgiven. 

Sirius sat down again, thought for a moment about lighting his fire earlier today, but decided against it, and he opened Remus' letter. "Give me some consolation, Moony," he muttered, and he started reading.

* * * * * 

_Padfoot, _

_Enclosed is something I thought you might appreciate. See it as a gift to celebrate Halloween. Sorry there are bats on them, but they are apparently fashionable this year, and there was no escaping them._

_I don't know anything about second-hand wands. I'll look around for you next time I go to Diagon Alley. Altough Dumbledore might be more useful when it comes to matters like this._

_Moony._

_PS: outcrown childish behaviour? Ha! Dream on! _


	7. The first cold stab of jealousy

**This chapter ha mood-swings, I've been told. Sorry! I noticed it does swing from happy to sad, to happy again and then back to depressed… I didn't do it intentionally.**

**The quote's from "Moulin Rouge", thanks to my mother and brother who helped me find it. ^_^ My mother was amazed at how much effort I put in my fanficts, but it's no more than logical, is it not? Right…?**

**Oh well. Read and review, please!**

**November 1994.**

_"All night, the penniless sitar player had waited. And now, for the first time, he felt the cold stab of jealousy."_

_* * * * * _

_Dearest, dearest, dearest Moony,_

_Thanks a million-million times! I´ll love you forever and ever for that scarf you send me. (I'm getting a bit redundant by now.) _

_I'm sure you've heard by now, but I´ll tell you anyway; Harry is one of the champions of the Triwizard Tournament. I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous that is, you used to know Hogwarts, a History practically by heart, and if you still do, you know everything about the dangers involved. Harry wrote to tell me that he has no idea who put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and I believe him. Besides, Dumbledore told me he had set up an age-line, students had to be seventeen to be able to compete, and we both know Harry isn't seventeen. So it's a mystery who is trying to put Harry's live in danger, but I´ll be damned if it isn't someone connected to Voldemort and The Rat. It's all a bit too coincidental – first Peter escapes us, then that disappearance of that Ministry witch, and now Harry who's in the Triwizard without wanting to – it's a puzzle but with too few clues. Ha, how poetical. _

_Please keep writing and keep sending all the food you can spare. Don't worry about the wand, Dumbledore´s working on that._

_Padfoot._

_PS: sure, I´ll keep dreaming. Harry can't do with a Godfather who's more immature than he is. _

_* * * * * _

"It's just not working!" Lova threw her pencil to the other side of the room and Remus ducked just in time to avoid being hit. Her sketchbook landed on the floor, and she angrily got on her feet and marched towards the kitchen to get something to drink. 

Remus sighed. "What is it this time?" He picked up the sketchbook and leafed through it. "It seems fine to me." 

She gestured weakly with one hand, a glass of water in her other hand. "It's just not right – the pose, the way you turn your head. It's not right." 

It had been a week since she'd started sketching Remus, to make him a portrait of himself. She had been right about the many sketches – she'd already filled a sketchbook just with portraits of Remus. But somehow, every drawing was missing something. She couldn't get it right, she kept saying. 

Remus shook his head, picked up a robe and started to pull it over his head. They'd decided pretty early that he would be shirtless ("you just like to see me half-naked," he had joked, and she hadn't denied it). His body was turned towards the viewer but his head was tilted down. He was looking down a bit so that you could only see a glimmer of his yellow eyes. There was a faint smile around the corner of his lips as if he was thinking about something amusing. It looked fine to him but she didn't think so. 

Through the ruffling of the robe he could hear her say something. "What?" he asked when he was properly dressed. She was waving two letters. "Mail. For you."

"Oh goody." This made her raise both her eyebrows. He ignored her and took the letters. One was from Sirius, as expected. He put it in his pocket for later read. The other one was from Romulus. He tore the envelope open and his stomach did a funny kind of somersault of surprise when he took out a card with a stork on it. He had quite forgotten that he had been about to become uncle again. 

"Anything interesting?" Lova wanted to know. She had sat herself down on a stool, her knees drawn up, balancing dangerously on the edge. 

"Yeah, my brother's just become father again," he told her, meanwhile reading the birth announcement card. 

"Boy or a girl?" 

"Boy. Named Ralph. That's the fourth in our family with RL as his initials," he said. He put the card down. "Do you mind if I go to Diagon Alley this afternoon and buy him a present?" 

"No, of course not," she replied. "I've got something to do myself." Lova had spread out the Daily Prophet and was looking at the paper as she spoke.

"Oh? What is it, if I might ask?" She still didn't look up.

"There was this guy who'd seen my paintings and wanted to see the rest of them, so he's coming over to have a look." Now she did look up. "Oh, at what time will you be back, you think?" 

"I don't know," he said with a sort of half-shrug. "Somewhere late in the afternoon, I think." 

"Well, if you come back before he's left, at least be nice to him," she said, and she started reading again. 

He bowed down and kissed her on her hair. "Yes ma'am." 

~*~

It was almost half past four in the afternoon when he returned. It had taken him quite a while to find a nice gift – he had been stunned to find out how much one could give a baby. He was sure half of it was more for the fun of the parents than for the baby itself – what would a baby want to do with a miniature broomstick with Snitch? Or a mobile with actually moving dragons? 

He'd finally settled with a plush mouse, he'd figured that something like that was always good. He had even scraped his money together and bought Julia, his sister-in-law, a gift; a book with short stories he thought she'd like. 

Remus unlocked the door and got in. He climbed the stairs in the dark – the lightbulb had broken a couple of days ago but neither of them had cared to fix it. He was about to open the door to Lova´s apartment when he heard voices inside, and he remembered she had a visitor.

He opened the door more carefully than he would have otherwise. Lova was sitting at one of her long tables. She was talking animatedly to a man who was sitting opposite her. He was dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of faded jeans. His hair was slicked back. And he was bowed towards Lova in a bit too affectionate way for Remus' liking. 

"Hey," he interrupted their conversation. Lova looked up and smiled at him. Far from reassuring him, her smile only worried him more. Was it genuine? Was she really happy to see him? Does she have do put her hand so close to his on the table?

The man had turned his head as well and he was now getting up. He stretched out his hand. "Bill Hunter," he said, squeezing Remus' hand. Remus took an instant disliking to him. 

"Remus Lupin." 

"I understand you live with Lova," Bill Hunter said. "I envy you!" 

"Thank you," Remus answered shortly. He turned to Lova. "Did you show him everything?" 

"Except for my works in progress," she said and she smiled a conspiring smile at him. Remus felt a surprising surge of relief. 

"Well, I must be going," Hunter said. He hadn't noticed anything. He picked up his coat and Lova walked with him towards the door. Remus pretended to be reading the Daily Prophet, but he was actually trying to hear what they were talking about. Apparently Bill Hunter hadn't quite decided which painting he liked best, because they were agreeing he would come back the day after tomorrow. Lova closed the door after him, then she walked towards Remus. She put her hands on her hips. "What was that all about?" 

Remus raised both his eyebrows. "What? What was what about?" 

"I thought I asked you to be nice!"

"But I was! Wasn't I?" 

"Well yeah, save for that glare of death you gave him when you walked in!"

"Oh, well, sorry!" he replied snappishly. "How did he like your paintings?" 

Her expression softened. "Very much. He liked them so much he can't decide which one he likes best, and he hasn't got money to buy them all."

"Sad for him, good for you." 

"Indeed. How did your shopping go?" Remus shrugged.

"Okay. It's a pain to find something nice, though." 

"Hmm." She had walked into the kitchen and was looking at the utensils with a pensive expression on her face. 

"What's up?" 

"I don't feel like cooking," she said. "How about we order a pizza and I try and make a decent portrait of you again?" He walked towards her and hugged her from behind.

"Best idea you had all day." 

She smiled and patted him on the arm, then she gently released herself and picked up the phone. "No salami and anchovy?" 

"As usual." 

~*~

Remus Apparated with a crack near his brother's house. It was later than he had planned; he had almost forgotten to take the gift with him, and to make it worse Lova had done something that…annoyed him. Today was her second appointment with Bill Hunter, and she had dressed up nice to look representative. But it turned out that her idea of nice was low-cut and tight fitting, and that was not Remus' kind of nice. He had surprised himself by his jealous, practically territorial feeling. He hadn't said anything, he didn't think it really important enough to have an argument over if he could avoid it, but it irked him to no end.

In short, it wasn't the most perfect way to start ones day. 

The youngest Lupin lived in a quiet suburb of London. Small detached houses in usually green gardens, most of them with cars parked before them. The only exception was Remus' destination – Romulus and Julia could both Apparate so they didn't need a car.

Remus noticed someone had placed a wooden stork in the front garden, and there were blue balloons tied to the miserable-looking animal. He figured it had to be a Muggle tradition, because he couldn't remember his parents having done it when his brother was born. Then again, he had only been three then. 

He looked on his watch. Half past two. He would arrive any minute now. He briefly considered Apparating back despite his promise he really wouldn't interrupt, but before he could make up his mind Romulus had caught sight of him through the window, and he had opened the door.

"Finally decided to come?" he asked. "You're the last one. Mum and dad are already here." 

"Well, the best always come last, you know," Remus replied. He inwardly gritted his teeth because it appeared he had no choice, then he told himself to get a grip, and he got inside. 

"Hey officially old guy with two children," he greeted Romulus.

"Hiya freak." 

"Where's the little tyke?" 

"If you mean my firstborn son," Romulus said stiffly, "he's upstairs. With his grandmother, in fact."

"Being strangled – I mean cuddled to dead?" 

"Yeah, sort of." Romulus closed the door and hung Remus' coat on a peg. "Want something to drink?" 

"Sure. Tea?" 

"I think there's some left, unless dad's drunk it all." Mr Lupin´s love for tea was well-known in the family, and often made fun of. 

Remus followed his brother into the kitchen. Sure enough, his father was sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a cup of tea. His face lit up when he saw his eldest son. 

"Remus!" He got to his feet and took Remus in a bear-like hug that didn't fit with his respectable age of sixty-eight springs. Remus often felt older than his own father. 

Mr Lupin pushed Remus away again, his hands on his son's shoulders, and took a good look at him. "You look worse for wear. We'd better get some weight on you before you mother comes down, takes one look at you, and drags you off under her wings again as if you were five instead of thirty-five." He gestured towards Romulus. "Give your brother something to eat, and there's still tea." 

"Oh, you haven't drunk it all?" Remus said with a small smile. He had forgotten how parents always have a way of acting as if you're still a child, no matter how old you are. In a way, it was both irritating and comforting. On one hand, parents never seemed to understand that you can take care of yourself. On the other hand, it was reassuring to know that no matter what and despite everything, your parents still love you and care for you. 

He sat down at the table. Romulus pushed a cup of tea in his direction while his father – 

"Err, dad, are you leaving something for us as well?" Romulus asked, only half joking. Mr Lupin had cut an abnormally thick slice off the cake and laid it next to Remus' teacup. 

"Eat the lot," he said. "Before your mother sees you." 

Remus obediently took a bite. The cake nearly melted on his tongue, and he could only just keep himself from moaning with pleasure. He had no idea cakes could taste like this. 

"This is so good," he said muffled around a mouthful of cake. "Who sold his soul to make this?" 

"Err, you mother did," his father answered. "But I don't think she sold her soul. At least, she doesn't seem soulless." 

"Who is soul – Remus!" Remus was about to turn around and make a comment but was caught mid-turn in a hug that was almost as tight has his father's had been. Remus patted his mother a bit awkwardly on the arm; the position she was keeping him in was hardly comfortable. 

She followed the same routine as his father; first a tight hug, then an inquisitive look. Because he was still sitting, he had to look up to her, and suddenly he did feel five years old. He got to his feet, and now she had to look up to him. 

"What are you eating?" she asked incredulously. "It's all the fault of that Umbridge woman. She makes you starve to death." 

"She keeps saying that," Remus' father commented. "She seems to think Umbridge's got something against you personally." 

"And prove me wrong!" Mrs Lupin said snappishly. Remus gently squeezed her arm.

"Mum, I'm fine. Really. I'm not dead yet, not by a long shot." 

"Hmm," she said, still doubtful. Remus pitied anyone who dared to touch his mother's 'baby'. She didn't really look it – Remus had inherited her frail build and fair, pale complexion – but she could be fierce and vengeful when driven to it. 

"And how do you like your second grandchild?" he asked. Her face lit up. 

"Very much!" Her love-rant was cut short by a voice coming from upstairs. Julia, Romulus' wife, had apparently become bored with being alone, and she was now demanding to know where her tea was, or should she come downstairs and get it herself? 

"Oops," Romulus said. "Excuse me." 

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fathers nowadays," he said jokingly while Romulus made his way out of the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs taking two steps at the time. 

"Come and take a look at your nephew," Mrs Lupin said, and she pulled Remus out of the kitchen. Mr Lupin followed suit, the teapot in his hand (because Romulus had forgotten it, although his sons took this opportunity to tease their father some more). 

Arriving on the landing, the three of them were greeted by Thirza, Remus' niece of almost four. She was clutching a rag-doll with one arm, and was sucking on her thumb. She smiled when she saw her grandparents and her uncle coming up the stairs. 

"Hey," Remus greeted. "How's your brother?" 

"He's sleeping," she said seriously. She stretched out her arms, wanting to be picked up. Remus obediently did so, and he walked into the master bedroom. Julia was sitting in bed, propped up against some pillows. The room was practically filled with presents, ranging from babyclothes to the strangest toys. A cradle was placed next to the bed, on Julia's side. She waved when she saw Remus enter. 

Remus put Thirza down on the bed gave his sister-in-law a welcome-kiss. "Romulus forgot about you? You should've married me instead." 

"Yeah, maybe I should have," she replied evilly. 

"Hey!" Romulus said, offended. Remus winked at him. "So, where's that child of yours?" 

"In his cradle of course," Julia answered. "Let Romulus take him out, he's been asking to do it for a few hours now." Romulus scowled at his wife but obeyed nonetheless. While he gently took his son out of his cradle, Remus' mother pushed her eldest son down on the bed. 

"Hey, what are you doing?" Remus wanted to know. 

"Now, Remus, if you want to hold him, you have to hold your arms like this –" she instructed.

"Hmpf, I can hold a baby!" he scowled. "Look." He took the baby from Romulus and carefully and gently held it in the crook of his right arm. Little Ralph was half-asleep, but instinctively turned his face towards Remus. He was sucking on a dummy, and he unconsciously reached out with one tiny finger and scratched his nose. It was very, very endearing. 

"See?" Remus said, looking up. To his surprise, his mother and sister-in-law were looking back, reduced to a small puddle of goo, completely melted away by the cuteness of Remus holding a baby. "Oh Merlin," he muttered. 

"Cute, huh?" Romulus commented. 

"Who, me or him?" Remus said dryly, nodding to Ralph. 

"I´d say him, but some of us haven't quite decided on it yet." Romulus winked. This shook Julia and Mrs Lupin from their reverie, and they both flushed. 

"Looks like you should have married her," Mr Lupin said. Remus nodded. 

"Well, the best idea seems to me that I´ll just keep Ralph, and you can come by and look at the two of us being cute," he said, and he got to his feet and made to walk out of the door. 

Julia immediately sat right up. "My baby!" she said angrily. "Give him back!"

"Okay, okay, hold yer horses," Remus said hastily. "Shall I throw him or just give him to you?" 

Julia glared. "Give him. Can't you Lupins do anything normally?" 

"No," Romulus answered the question. "Isn't that why you married me?" Julia took the baby from Remus and smiled wickedly. "No, actually I married you because – " 

"Yes, thank you," Remus interrupted her. "That was really more than we wanted to know…" 

~*~

It was already early in the evening when Remus returned to Lova´s apartment. He was humming to himself; he had forgotten how good it was for his mood to visit his family. He had dined there as well, his mother – as usual – fussing over him, encouraging him to eat more and Romulus and his father laughing at her motherly behaviour. 

When he arrived in Lova´s flat, she wasn't there. 

The room was still dark and cold, there wasn't a sign that she had been there in the last couple of hours. He froze in the doorway. Worrying thoughts immediately shot through his head. He remembered the feelings of unrest he had had early that day, and his brow furrowed. 

He sat down at one of the tables and tried to reason his fears away. Obviously, something completely innocent had happened – bad traffic, or she had forgotten about the time, or she had decided to do something else… 

More than an hour later, she finally came home. Lova didn't notice him at first, and he watched her walk in and do a little dance, face alight with a radiant smile. 

"Where were you?" Remus said, startling her. 

"Oh! I didn't see you," she said. For a microsecond, she seemed to look disappointed, but the next moment, Remus was sure he'd imagined it. 

"I've been to Diagon Alley," she said. "And I've eaten something in the Leaky Cauldron." Her answer set him at ease, he knew how much she liked Tom's cooking. 

"How did your appointment go?" A bit to his surprise, a broad smile appeared on her face. She did her festive dance again. "Good. Very good. I sold a painting." 

"Really? Great! Which one?" Remus was smiling now, her good mood was infectious.

"Oh, the one with the waternymph," she shrugged. The painting, showing a mermaid on a rock gazing at the starred sky, wasn't one of her best works. "Guess how many I sold it for!" 

"Uhm…" 

She danced again, too happy to stay still. "You'll never guess it. Three hundred pound!" 

He gasped. "T-three hundred pound? That's incredible!" 

"Told you." She grinned. He embraced her, and she hugged him back, immensely happy. 

"What shall I buy you?" she asked. "A new robe? A book?" 

He, however, didn't react. He buried his face in her hair again, smelled deeply… "Do you have a new perfume?" he wanted to know.

"Uhm, no?" she said, uncertainly. "Why?" 

"You smell… different." Strangely familiar… somehow. 

"Oh, that." She laughed (nervously?). "There was this new shop in Diagon Alley that sold perfume and the like, and I kind of tried their entire supply, so you're probably smelling that." 

He raised his eyebrows. "Did you buy anything?" She shrugged, laughing again. 

"Should I have?" 

He grinned. "I bet the salesman wasn't happy." 

Lova smiled as well. "No, indeed. He was rather pissed, actually. Can't imagine why." She gently released herself from his hug. 

"Yes, you do have this tendency to make people react like that…" he teased. 

"Well hush." She shook his finger at him. "I feel rather lucky and inspired today. Can I have another go at you?" 

He embraced her again and kissed her. "Hmm, what kind of go would that be?" 

"Mmm, I was thinking… your portrait… but maybe… some other time?" 

"My thoughts exactly…" 

~*~

It was not even half past five when Lova opened her eyes. She rolled onto her back and dreamily stared at the ceiling and the night sky visible through the window. She had had the most excellent dream, and she suddenly had the feeling she should start painting right now, because her Muse said so. She looked to her right.

Remus was sleeping, his back turned towards her. His left shoulder seemed like a small mountain. In the faint orange light from the street lanterns coming through the windows in the ceiling she could see a long white scar on his shoulderblade. The sight of his back seemed to spark something inside of her. She sat right up, looking at him. She unconsciously put a lock of hair in her mouth and started chewing it. 

So far she had always drawn him en face, turned towards her. But what if she tried drawing him seen on his back? But how would he have to hold his head…? It would be ridiculous not to show his face.

Remus provided the answer without knowing it. He shifted slightly, his right hand rubbing over his left shoulder. His shoulder was turned slightly away from Lova, and his head was turned so that it seemed as if he was about to look over his shoulder. His profile was clearly visible on the white pillow. His greying hair hung before his eyes, his mouth was opened slightly, and he breathed slowly and softly. 

Lova smiled. There was her muse. She reached out and muttered "Accio sketchbook. Accio pencil." The two utensils flew into her hand. Careful not to wake him or in any other way make him move, she flapped the sketchbook open. This might just become my best painting yet, she thought optimistically. 

When Remus awoke, four hours later, Lova had just begun preparing a new canvas. 

~*~

The raunchy scent of the trashcan filled Padfoot´s sensitive nose. He tried to think his nose shut, but to no avail. He nearly fainted with nausea and disgust when he pulled out a moulting bread. Again nothing. He growled softly. Don't they throw edible food away anymore nowadays?

Cursing his life in general and his living conditions and Remus in particular, Padfoot trotted down the main street of Hogsmeade, leaving the bread for creatures that wanted to eat rotten food. Stupid werewolf seems to have forgotten how to answer a bloody letter, he thought angrily. 

He took the back way, keeping in the shadows and avoiding humans. He was in no mood to be petted by people who thought he was 'loveable'. 

When he arrived in his cave he immediately changed back into Sirius. Buckbeak wasn't there, he was probably off hunting. There were no owls with letters either. Deprived of any kind of company or occupation, Sirius plopped down on his bed and moodily stared into space. Things weren't going to good lately. 

First of all there was this whole deal with Harry being Hogwarts champion. Then of course there was Peter still running around freely. And to make things worse Sirius hadn't heard of Remus in ages either. Which was strange, because Remus was usually the one who maintained a steady correspondence. 

Buckbeak came trampling into the cave, a dead rabbit in his beak. Sirius had threatened him with all kinds of nasty things if the Hippogriff dared fly, or go back to Hagrid, and, to his surprise, Buckbeak had taken the threats seriously. Pity that a walking Hippogriff turned out to be more noisy than a flying Hippogriff. Oh well.

The animal unceremoniously dropped the rabbit in front of Sirius. The rabbit's head was torn half off the body, and Sirius felt a wave of nausea going through him by the mere sight of it. He pushed the animal towards Buckbeak. "You can have it." 

Buckbeak happily started tearing the rabbit apart and devouring it. His cold was over and his appetite was completely back. 

Sirius turned around until he was sitting with his back towards Buckbeak. He buried himself a little deeper in his scarf. Everything seemed to go wrong. He had no food, no real company, no shelter to speak of… 

He let his pessimistic, depressing side overcome him, and he suddenly found himself wondering if things would ever work out for him…

* * * * * 


	8. She loves me, she loves me not

**And it's been two weeks since I last posted, so… new chapter!**

**The quote comes from "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov. I'm very much in love with that book. ^_^**

**There's a longer author's note after this chapter; it gives too much away to put it above the chapter, but the reaction of my Beta's told me there were some things in this chapter that needed explaining.**

**Well, enjoy! Or not.. Oh, and review of course!**

**November/December 1994.**

"No," I said, "you got it all wrong. I want you to leave your incidental Dick, and this awful hole, and come to live with me, and die with me, and everything with me." 

"You're crazy," she said.  

* * * * * 

Moony?

* * * * * 

The paint made a soft squelching noise. Lova made long, slow strokes over the canvas, covering it with the dark blue paint. She was careful not to smear it over the parts of the canvas she had covered with a cream coloured paint, where Remus would eventually appear. She hummed softly to herself, not aware of the world around her.

The real-life Remus was watching her, looking at her but not really seeing her. He was sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up, his head resting on his knees. There seemed to be a faint buzzing inside his head – he had had a vague headache for a few days now. Not enough to call oneself ill and stay in bed the entire day, but enough to be annoying. He wondered if he was getting sick. 

The last two weeks had gone so quiet and peaceful. Apparently Bill Hunter had really only been interested in Lova's paintings and nothing else; he hadn't showed his face again. 

Love had barely left her house, emerged in her new project, 'giving birth to a new painting' as she put it. Even though it was hard to have a conversation when she was in that state, it was fascinating to see the painting grow. 

Lova was done with the darker paint, and she turned around to put more colours on her palette. She suddenly noticed there was someone else in the room; she had quite forgotten about Remus. 

"Hey," she said. "What do you think of it so far?" 

Remus turned his face towards the painting. "Nice," he muttered. "Like the white and dark blurs, it really looks like me." Lova laughed. She plopped down on the bed, next to him. 

"Yeah, it does. I´ll be adding shadows later, and more detail, and then it'll really look like you."    

"I got a huge nose," Remus commented, frowning. "Is it really that big?" For the first time in two hours, he lifted his head. The floor seemed to sway a little but finally came to rest. 

"Yes," Lova confirmed mercilessly. "But it's not as big as Professor Snape´s."

"Well, that would be quite impossible," Remus said dryly. He looked at her. "How do you know Snape?" 

She shrugged. "He started teaching when I was fifteen. I only had him for one year though – I was smart enough not to choose Potions for my NEWTs."  

"That's odd." 

"Why? What is?"

"Snape and I were at school together. Imagine that, I could've taught you." 

"Yeah." She got to her feet again and picked up her palette. "What are you doing tonight?" 

Tonight would be a full moon. The last months, Remus has always travelled back to Derbyshire. Lova flatly refused to drink the Wolfsbane potion ("If I wanted to poison myself, I would have done it a long time ago"), and Remus had no desire to get killed in a territorial werewolf-fight. 

"I´ll go home," he said. She nodded and returned to her painting. Remus rested his head on his knees again and closed his eyes. 

The key made a loud grinding noise when Remus turned it around in the lock. "Remind me to oil the lock," he told Monster. The animal, resting safe and warm inside Remus' pocket, purred. 

Remus let himself inside the house and lit the lamps. He took Monster out of his pocket and let him fall down. The Puffskein bounced twice, then scurried off to see if the house was the same as he'd left it. Remus did the same, only from a much higher viewpoint. 

Apart from being dark and a bit dusty, his home was still the same. He did need to water the plants, though, and the windows could do with some washing as well. 

He looked through his window to see how much time he had left. It was already dark outside – it was late November and darkness came early. He decided there was just enough time to water his plants, so he took the flask with Wolfsbane potion from his inside pocket, hung his cloak away and started filling the watering-can. 

Monster hopped through the cat-flap, back from his inspection-round. 

"Bet you like being home, don't you?" Remus asked. Monster and Lova had a mutual dislike for each other; Lova had never completely trusted Monster after he'd tried to eat her paint, and he could sense her distrust. Monster gave a content sort of half-snort and wandered off under the table. 

Remus had filled the watering-can and started pouring water over the dry earth in the pots. It felt good being home. The surrounding was familiar, and he felt more at ease here. His headache seemed to have subsided a little as well. He hoped he'd only caught a cold, and nothing worse. 

He looked through the window again. He was nearly running out of time. He hastily watered the last few plants; when he put down the can he could already feel the familiar itching. He walked to the kitchen, almost limping, and quickly uncorked the flask. Without thinking to much about it, he gulped the potion down and flinched. Disgusting, as always. 

He walked back into the living room, using the walls for support as his right leg, where he had been bitten and where the Change always began, was about to give way. Great, he thought, why did it have to be my leg? Such an unuseful place… "Monster!" 

Monster immediately emerged from under the kitchen sink and looked expectantly. Remus sat down on the hearth rug and started taking off his clothes, folding them and laying them on the couch. 

Monster might not have a large brain, but he had a good memory, and he knew what was going to happen when Remus undressed himself in the living room. He purred and bounced closer. 

"Yes, that's right," Remus told him. He was almost completely covered with fur now, and speaking became more difficult now his teeth were growing. "That time of the month again." He gasped when the bones in his feet snapped and broke, setting themselves in another position. He clenched his fists, nails digging in the palms of his hands to keep himself from screaming. 

It was a short but painful torture. Only a few minutes later, there was no Remus, only the Wolf.  

The next afternoon, he woke up in his bed, not able to remember how he had managed to get there. It seemed all the more impressive since a small herd of goblins wearing army boots appeared to be doing an Irish dance on his head. Remus stayed very still, and after half an hour the goblins were replaced by a slow, resounding drum. He tried to swallow but this turned out to be difficult and rather painful. He realised he was ill.

Well, this is unusual, he thought. Last time I was ill was… ten years ago? 

He managed to climb out of bed, took a long warm shower, and slowly dressed himself, sitting on the edge of his bed because he swayed too much when he was standing. He didn't bother shaving, he didn't bother having breakfast, and he didn't look at his reflection in the mirror – all he cared for was getting back to London, get back in bed and have Lova care for him. The advantage of having a girlfriend. 

He got downstairs, put his cloak on and scooped Monster in his pocket. The hallway was swaying and he really wanted to lay down on the floor and pass out, but he knew he couldn't. He walked outside, locked the door (dimly aware of the grinding lock) and Apparated to London. 

Remus staggered and had to lean against a street lantern when he arrived. He shook his head (he shouldn't have, it only made his headache worse) and let himself in. The climb upstairs was a slow and difficult one, and he had to rest a few moments before he was able to walk into Lova´s apartment. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead and he was breathing difficulty.

Lova was in the bathroom, he could hear her rummaging about. He just managed to get his cloak off before collapsing on the bed. He closed his eyes, determined not to leave this spot for the rest of his life. His head was pounding feverishly and his shirt was sticking to his back. He felt utterly, utterly miserable. 

He heard footsteps approaching but couldn't care to open his eyes. "Hey, what's up?" he heard Lova asked. A cool hand was pressed against his forehead. "God, you're hot!" 

There was no resisting it. Despite everything, Remus felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I know," he muttered.  

"Whatever you meant, I meant that you're incredibly warm. Just a sec." She walked away again and returned moments later with a wet cloth, which she used to wipe his face. Remus was reminded oddly of his mother taking care of him when he had been ill as a child. 

Lova peeled his soaked clothes off him and carefully draped the covers over him. "Go to sleep," she whispered, and Remus, wanting nothing else, sighed and almost immediately drifted off to sleep.   

The next few days seemed to blur in and out of focus. Later, he could only remember bits and pieces – waking up and seeing Monster next to him on his pillow, humming softly and soothingly, or Lova wiping his face again, telling him he'd caught the flu and that he wasn't the only one. The painting of his portrait seemed to go by jilts and starts, every time he opened his eyes some more was added, his features had become clearer. 

The rest of the world passed by unnoticed; he was sleeping through the 24th of November and missed all the newspaper articles about the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Lova had thrown the papers away before he was well enough to read them, and she could only remember that it had been dragons and that Harry and Krum were in first place. And that was all she wanted to tell him anyway, because she thought he was worrying himself too much.  

The first days, Lova was really fussing over him, spoon-feeding him, giving him water to drink, washing his face. But she soon grew restless; she wasn't made for nursing. When she started to look longingly at the painting while giving him something to drink, he had had enough.

"Do me a favour and paint, please," he said hoarsely. 

"Really?" She looked as if she couldn't really believe it. 

"Yes. Look, I'm almost better, you don't have to watch over me anymore." 

"Okay." She picked up her palette, looked back at him as if to ask if he was really sure about his, and when gestured for her to get a move on, she turned towards the painting and started painting again, humming happily. 

It was true, he was getting better. Half a week later, he could sit up against some propped up pillows again, and the day after that he was able to read for hours on end without getting dizzy again. 

The better he got, the worse Lova´s mood seemed to get. She had reached the final stage of the painting process, and was now carefully adding details. She turned out to be a perfectionist; she spend a few hours on getting the colour of Remus' hair right, and Remus had had to turn over on his stomach once so that she could see exactly where he had scars on his back. She was working too hard on it, she was too focussed on the painting.

The bomb burst in the first week of December. Lova was standing with her nose about an inch from the portrait, carefully painting eyelashes with a tiny one-haired brush. She had a frown of concentration on her face and her wand at the ready to wipe away paint if she made a mistake. Remus was sitting propped up against the pillows, a book in his hands. He occasionally glanced at her, to see how she was doing. 

He had just watched her wipe some paint away again, when he said: "it would almost seem easier just to take some of your mascara and paint it on." 

She gritted her teeth. "Shut up. Do you use mascara?" 

"No, but – " 

That was too much. She angrily threw the brush down. "I told you to shut up!" she yelled. It was so completely different from what Remus was used that he sat in shock for a few moments. Lova marched towards the hatstand, put her cloak on and made to walk out of the door. She almost immediately came back and threw a piece of paper on the bed. "Tell your… friend, whatever he is, to use normal envelopes next time," she hissed, then left, slamming the door shut. 

Remus blinked a few times. This was certainly unexpected. He had no idea she could be so snappish and short-tempered. It puzzled him, he had no idea what could be bothering her.

He picked up the piece of paper she had thrown on the bed. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet, from the front page; the picture showed Fudge shaking hands with Umbridge, who had made another promotion. But Remus couldn't remember Fudge having a beard and a black eye, or Umbridge having all these pencil-coloured scars and missing two teeth. 

"How childish, Padfoot," he muttered, smiling. He turned the cutting around, but there was no message. Or – in one of the margins, Sirius had written a sad "Moony?" And in the other he had written the address: "Remus Lupin, somewhere on this planet, somewhere in this universe – hopefully."   

It sounded all so miserable and depressed that Remus felt a rush of guilt. He had been neglecting Sirius. And he couldn't even really remember why he'd stopped writing – somehow other things had got in the way. Not this time though.

He climbed out of bed, walked steadily to one of the tables and took several sheets of sketching paper and a pen. He got back in bed, made himself comfortable and began writing one of his longest letters yet. 

When Lova came back, hours later, he had just filled the eighth page. The longer he was writing, the easier it got. Without really deciding to, he was almost pouring his heart out; page-long stories about last year, Harry, his family, baby Ralph, Lova… 

The closing door made him look up. Lova seemed completely changed. She was smiling, her face somehow seemed to be glowing with joy. There was a spring in her step Remus hadn't seen before.

"Hey," he said. 

"Oh, hi," she replied, as if she'd just noticed him. "I'm back!" 

"So I've noticed," he said. "Where've you been?" She shrugged.

"Leaky Cauldron. I met some friends." She bowed down and kissed him. "I see you're feeling better." 

"Yep." And she was feeling better as well – it was a startling change from how she'd reacted earlier that afternoon. It was a bit fishy, but Remus could not think of an explanation for it.  

Lova made dinner that evening, and the two of them ate it in silence. Lova was looking at the painting with a pensive expression on her face. 

"D´you really think it would work, using mascara?" she asked suddenly. Remus shrugged. 

"I dunno. But I figured, it has that little brush, you know – " he gestured, " – which kind of looks like eyelashes, right? So I thought, wouldn't that make it easier?"

"Hmm…" Lova walked to the bathroom and came back with a pen-like mascara-dispenser. "This is an old one," she said. "I actually needed to throw it away, but I can of course recycle it. Let's see if this works." She smeared some black paint on the little brush and brushed lightly over a sheet of paper. Hair-thin lines appeared. Lova was delighted. "Hey, it works!" She enthusiastically got to her feet and put a little more paint on the brush. Then, with a small flick of her wrists, she smeared it on the canvas. Painting-Remus suddenly had eyelashes. 

"So," Lova said contentedly. "We're almost finished." 

Remus' health was rapidly improving. Within a few days, he was out of bed again. He did stay indoors though – it was too cold outside and he didn't want to risk getting ill again. 

Lova, on the other hand, went outside quite often. Her 'project'  was nearly finished, all she now had to do was add a finishing touch to the background and varnish the painting. She had put the portrait on an easel, and Remus couldn't help but look at it ever so often. 

It was nothing like looking in a mirror. His portrait-self seemed… smoother, even though the scars on his back were painfully visible. His face was turned left as if somebody had called his name and he was looking left to see who it was. His eyes were cast downwards, his mouth was closed but he was smiling. It wasn't how he pictured himself, and at the same time it strangely was. Odd. 

Lova added the varnish on a lazy Sunday afternoon. When she was done, she stepped back.

"That's it," she said. She tilted her head. "Hmm, could've been better." 

Remus laughed. "Well, I couldn't have done it." 

"Of course. I am exceptionally talented," she said smugly, her nose in the air. 

"Sure." He plopped down on the couch, a book in his hands. She frowned. 

"Are you gonna read all afternoon again?" 

"Uhm, yeah?" 

She sighed. "As usual. Hey, I need to get some shopping, mind if I leave you for a few hours?" 

"Of course not." He watched her pack her bag and leave the house, then he opened his book and started to read.

He couldn't concentrate on the pages, however.  Her sigh and "as usual" echoed through his head. He hadn't realised it bugged her so much. 

Determinedly, he closed his book and got to his feet. He'd try and find her, so that she could see he wasn't always spending entire afternoons on the couch. Monster emerged hopefully from under the couch but Remus told the animal to stay put; he wasn't going to do anything exciting. Monster huffed and disappeared again.

Lova was wearing her cloak so he figured she'd gone to Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron was only a few blocks away so he walked that short distance and got inside. He waited a few minutes to get warm again, greeted Tom the bartender who cheerfully waved back, then he got into the back garden to the entrance to Diagon Alley. 

The Wizard street was fairly peaceful. It was cold outside and nobody was really happy to go shopping in these icy conditions. Remus scanned a few of Lova's favourite shops but couldn't find her. Then he decided for a more pleasant method; he'd just go shopping himself and hopefully the two of them would eventually meet. And if they didn't – well, that was just too bad.

He immediately headed for the bookstore. 

Remus couldn't for the life of him understand why people didn't like books. To him, seeing a familiar book was like meeting an old friend. If he didn't keep himself in check, he'd even greet the book. Now he only whispered hello to it, leafing through the pages to find loved scenes. He was weird, he knew it. But there was nobody around, he was practically alone in the bookshop, so he enjoyed his strange habit. 

Time passed unnoticeably, and before he knew it, it was the end of the afternoon. He left the bookshop and walked leisurely to the Leaky Cauldron. He suddenly remembered why he had come to Diagon Alley, and he started looking left and right for Lova. She was nowhere to be seen. He noticed a stand outside a shop selling robes. There were all kinds of funny colourful wool hats perched on the stand. Remus smiled and walked towards the stand. 

The hats were actually quite ugly, but in a funny way. They were pointed, with flaps to cover the ears and a pompon on top. There were multi-coloured ones, striped ones, even tartan ones. Remus amused himself for a few moments with searching through the hats, looking for one that was reasonably wearable. He suddenly heard voices. Lova´s voice. He looked up.

When he thought back on it later, he realised he could've know. It was a simple matter of adding up all the signs, of putting two and two together. But in retrospect, everything seems obvious. 

She was laughing, clinging to the arm of a man with long black hair. For a split-second he looked like Sirius but he looked too healthy for that. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled and slapped him playfully. He drew her closer. 

Remus narrowed his eyes. 

He kissed her, long, and she clearly kissed back. 

And Remus knew exactly how it felt. He knew the taste of her mouth, the way she would always hold on to his arms as if looking for support. She stepped back from the stranger, and Remus knew that she would now lick her lips and smile, baring her teeth. 

And now he knew she would never again smile that way at him. 

Lova and whoever it was walked on. They hadn't noticed Remus, and he had enough control over himself to stay hidden. When they were gone, he noticed he had unconsciously clenched his fists; an orange hat had gone almost out of shape (But they don't have any shape to speak of) because he was squeezing it so tightly. 

How he reached her house, he could not remember. With every step he took, he was getting more angry, the memory more painful. 

He arrived there before Lova. Seeing the house deserted only made his anger worse. Apart from feeling utterly betrayed, he couldn't understand it. Granted, he wouldn't claim himself God's gift to women (Sirius had done that once, and the other Marauders had pushed him – with his clothes on – under a cold shower until he took it back) but he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. 

Lova arrived half an hour later. 

She walked inside, unaware of Remus, humming happily. Remus was standing in the kitchen, but he couldn't remember what he was doing there. 

"Hey," he said tonelessly. He started her.

"Oh, hey. Not reading?" 

"I went to Diagon Alley instead." If she realised the implications of this, she didn't show it. 

"Oh." 

He did a few steps towards her. "Who was that man I saw you with?" 

"My brother." An obviously lie, but she didn't flinch. She didn't look him in the eye either. 

"You didn't kiss him as if he was your brother," he said coldly. Now she did look up, aggressively. 

"Okay, so he wasn't. So what?" 

"Where did you meet him?" he demanded to know. "Who is he?" 

"Just some bloke I met in The Leaky Cauldron," she shrugged irritably. 

"When?" 

"About a week ago, okay? When you were going on about those stupid eyelashes." She turned her back to him, the conversation was over on her part.

But not according to him. He walked towards her and roughly grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her around.

"What?!" she snapped. 

"Why?" he nearly shouted. "Why?! What did I do wrong?!" He was on the verge of exploding. 

But so was she. "You were boring, okay?" she shouted back. "You were simply boring the heck out of me. That infernal reading of you – it made me itch! And I couldn't stand it anymore! You were okay at first but now you're nothing more than a nuisance!"

Without really realising what he was doing, Remus lashed out and hit her in the face. He hit her hard on the right cheek and she staggered backwards, her hand pressed against her cheek. She felt inside her mouth, and when she draw her hand back, there was a faint red on her fingertips.  

"You bastard," she whispered. He grabbed her wrists and held them in a painful grip.

"Tell me," he hissed. "Tell me. Did you ever love me?" Lova didn't squirm under his grip but looked back, a defiant look in her yellow eyes.

"No," she hissed back. "You were a good shag, that's all." 

If she had hit him, she wouldn't have hurt him more. He roughly pushed her away from him and she staggered backwards, against one of the long tables. A pile of sketches fell down and she stepped on them, trying to recover her balance. 

"My drawings!" she gasped, bowing down to pick them up. "Look what you did!" 

"Is that all you care about?!" Remus shouted. "Those stupid drawings?" 

"Yes!" she screamed back. "As a matter of fact it is!" 

"I loved you!" he shouted. But she shrugged, turned her back towards him. She had piled up the sketches again and was touching them almost lovingly. It was infuriating. 

Remus realised that the most painful thing was not that she had cheated on him, but that she didn't seem to care about it. It meant nothing to her. She was more concerned about her paintings than about who she was sleeping with. 

This realisation shocked him so much that all his anger suddenly ebbed away. 

He walked towards her and took her by her shoulders. She froze, but didn't turn around.

"I loved you," he whispered. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" 

She hesitated. "Not anymore." Lova took his hands and pushed them off her shoulders. "It's over. Leave, please." 

He opened his mouth, ready to beg, but she shook her head. "Get out." She saw he was about to protest again, and she screamed: "Get out!" 

He had no choice. He nodded shortly, then he turned around and started gathering his things together.

"Don't bother, I´ll pack everything and send it to you," Lova interrupted. She still had her back turned towards him. 

"Okay." He put on his cloak, picked Monster up and put him in his pocket. "Goodbye." 

She finally turned around to face him. Her expression was unreadable. "Goodbye." 

He nodded, then turned around and walked out. 

A few days later, a box with his things arrived through the mail. Remus started unpacking it when he noticed a square object, wrapped in brown paper. He took it out and, after a short moment of hesitation, unwrapped it. 

The varnish gleamed in the sunlight. Portrait-Remus was smiling faintly and, it suddenly seemed, sadly. Remus looked at the painting for a few minutes, then he wrapped it with the brown paper again. He walked up the stairs, to the attic. He carefully stored the painting away.

It was done. Finished. Over. 

~*~

" – I flew upwards again but the dragon was onto me. She tried to roast me, but I was quicker than she was. I managed to escape the fire, and I flew from side to side so that she had no chance to shoot more fire at me. Then I flew closer to the egg, but the dragon – " 

Sirius turned the piece of parchment around and continued reading Harry's letter. It wasn't the first time he was reading it – in fact, he had read it so often that the letter had begun to fall apart at the folds – but he couldn't get enough of it. In his mind, Harry looked more and more like James, and he relived his friend's Quidditch success through his Godson's letter. 

It was nothing short of a miracle that Harry had even survived the first Task in the Triwizard Tournament, and it was even more amazing that he had managed to get in first place – even though it was a shared first place. 

He finally put the letter down and picked up one of his battered plastic bags. He rummaged about, looking for something to eat. He settled for a packet of musty old biscuits which nearly fell apart when he took them out. He really needed to find another way to get food instead of raiding trashcans. He really had to start thinking about what he wanted to have for his Christmas dinner so that he could start gathering things together. 

It turned out he didn't have to. A grey owl zoomed into his cave and landed soundlessly next to him. A letter was tied to its paw. Sirius untied the letter and recognised, to his surprise, Remus' handwriting. 

"Finally!" he said. He tore the envelope open and started reading. It seemed as if his birthday had come early – the letter was huge. Remus had managed to fill almost ten pages with all kinds of things; anecdotes, news, lose rambling… but the ending was what really made his day.

* * * * * 

Again, I'm deeply sorry that I haven't written to you in such a long time. But I think I know a way to make up for it – what would you say if I came over to Hogsmeade for Christmas? Then we would really be able to talk and catch up. 

Please write back,

_Moony._

_* * * * * _

About the hitting-thing: no, I'm not a fan of domestic violence myself (but really, who IS?!). The point is, when I make up scenes for my fanficts, it's usually as if I'm Remus (or whoever the main character is) myself (and I already know I'm gonna cry my eyes out at the end of OotP). When I was imagining this particular scene, I myself got to angry with Lova that I wanted to slap her, and before I really knew what was going on, Remus had slapped her as well. An uncontrollable action of pure anger. I know that doesn't make it good or anything, but... maybe... natural?  
  
About Lova: Lova is a person who more or less lives for what you could call excitement. She isn't the kind of person to sit around on the couch all day, reading a book, like Remus loves to do. Remus is a quiet person, but Lova gets bored easily. She was so short on Remus in the "eyelashes-incident" because he irritated her. He was just... boring (according to her). It may sound a bit harsh, but that was why she took such good care of him when he was ill - it was something new, something different. But after a while... it all stayed the same, and she returned to her paintings again.  
Lova more or less throws herself into a relationship because it is something new. Same with Remus. The first few weeks of their relationship were passionate (of course, Remus is a very passionate man!), but after a while, things calmed down and she had to look for new sources of excitement.   
Yes, she did love Remus, and actually not so much differently as he loved her. He was drawn to her because of the way she looked (raging hormones, eh?), she was drawn to him because he was something different. After a while, the novelty wore off, and she went on to look for something new.   
The only things she really lives for are her paintings. They are not only a way to make a living, but for her also a way to express herself. Stepping on her drawings was awful, because to her it was like stepping on a piece of herself. And it's also the reason why she didn't destroy Remus' portrait; she spent so much work on it, she couldn't destroy it! And anyway, it was Remus' portrait - it had him on it, she made it for him, on his request, it was only logical and fair that she send it to him. And with the portrait out of the house, she wouldn't be reminded of him and if he'd destroyed it, she would never find out, and would never had to live with the fact that she'd destroyed it herself...  
Actually, I quite like Lova. She may have some despicable habits and personality-treats (sp?) but she's, in her own way, an interesting character. She somehow reminds me a bit of Wulf actually.   
  



	9. Christmas

**Perhaps a week too late, but here's the newest, Christmas-themed chapter! for all you Americans: a jumper is of course a sweater.  
And the quote's from A Muppet Christmas Carol, my favourite version of the old story by Charles Dickens (or Dahl's Chickens, as the BFG likes to call him).  
Anyway, enjoy, and a (belated) merry Christmas and a happy 2004! I certainly felt Christmas-y when I wrote this!**

**Christmas 1994.******

"A cup of kindness that we share with another  
A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother  
In all the places you find love  
It feels like Christmas…" 

* * * * * 

Dear Father Christmas,

I know I haven't been that particularly good the past few years, but I thought I´d send you a wish-list nonetheless. This year, I´d like to get the following:

1) Peter Pettigrew´s head on a stake

2) Snape´s head on a stake

3) Voldemort´s head on a stake

4) Food 

5) A wand

6) A proper place to stay

7) Something to keep me warm

8) Matches 

9) A long warm bath

10) A relatively normal life so I can spend more time with Harry and you

I realise some items might be a bit hard to get. To help you on your Quest, I've enclosed a cheque for two hundred Galleons. And don't you dare start whining about it – I don't need the money, and you're probably spending most of it on me anyway. And while you're at it, buy some Christmas presents for yourself as well. 

See you soon,

Sirius.

* * * * * 

Remus stared incredulously at the numbers on the cheque in front of him. A curled two, two round zero's, and after that, in brackets, the entire sum in letters: two hundred Galleons. He was holding the ticket to a small fortune. Well, in his eyes at least. Sirius seemed to have gone mad after all…

He was so happy with the gift he did a sort of dance of happiness. Monster carefully scooted away from Remus, minding the feet that were about to step on him.

"See this, Monster?" Remus asked excitedly. He held the cheque before the animal's eyes. "You know what this means? This means a new cloak, and a proper Christmas meal, and loads of new books!" He continued his dance, but suddenly stopped, literally mid-leap-of-joy. His stomach sunk through the soles of his feet right into the cellar when he realised something.

He wasn't allowed to get so much money. 

The financial situation of a werewolf is a rather complicated one. Dolores Umbridge – according to rumours on her way to becoming Senior Under-secretary to the Minister himself – had tightened the net a little more. She had seen the demonstration at the ministry a few months ago as a personal offence – which it more or less had been. Seeking revenge, she had (cleverly, Remus had to admit that) decided that the best way to hit somebody was through their pocket. Remus and his fellow werewolves received a monthly one hundred Galleons from the Lycantrope Support, a fund that had been erected a few years ago, when more and more werewolves had started to lose their jobs. Now Umbridge had decided that werewolves were only allowed to receive those hundred Galleons, and an additional sum with a maximum of another one hundred Galleons.

Which meant that Remus was now holding twice as much as he was allowed to get. 

He growled at the cheque, as if the poor thing could help it. It was not fair, really. There was Sirius, with more money than he could spent, who couldn't go out and buy things, and here was Remus, free as a bird, and he didn't have a Knut. 

He sunk down on a chair. His head fell down on the table with a thud. It hurt. 

I hate my life, he thought miserably. He somehow had to get rid of one hundred Galleons without spending them. Wasn't it even possible to get a Christmas gift without any trouble in this world?! Apparently not. 

He raised his head slightly when a new thought occurred to him. He could… he could… 

Yes, finish that thought, a voice in his head said irritably. He could of course pay one hundred Galleons to his Gringotts account and change the rest for Muggle money, claiming it was money he had been saving. He read the cheque through again. It was from an anonymous giver, it said (you can't walk into Gringotts, cashing a cheque from Sirius Black, you simply can't), and once the money had been changed into Pounds it had virtually disappeared. It didn't exist anymore. It was in fact a loophole that Lova had pointed out to him; she had two bankaccounts herself, a Gringotts account and one at a Muggle bank. 

Determinedly, he got to his feet and put on his old wintercloak. Time to do some shopping.  

~*~

"Yes, how can I help you?" The goblin looked down from his high stool at Remus.  

"I would like to cash this cheque please." Remus gave the cheque to the goblin, who took a few moments to study it. Remus waited nervously, afraid that his little plan wasn't going to work out after all. After a few nervous moments, the goblin asked: "do you have the key to your vault?" 

"Yes, right here," Remus replied, showing him the key. The goblin nodded and beckoned another goblin, who took Remus to the carts taking them to the vaults. 

They went to Sirius' vault first, number 711. The goblin opened the vault and took out two hundred gold coins. Just before the door closed again, Remus caught sight of a glimmering mount of coins, not only gold but also silver and some copper. There was a fortune in there. 

"What would you like to do with it, sir?" the goblin asked. 

Remus thought about this for a moment, then said: "I´d like to put fifty Galleons in my own vault, and take the rest with me, please."

"Very well." 

In the cart they went, and two speedy rollercoaster rides later Remus was back in the hall of Gringotts. There was a queue in front of the Change Office, so he got in line and waited. 

His leather bag with coins was curiously heavy, and he couldn't resist the temptation for long. He opened the bag and looked in wonder at the one hundred and fifty gold coins glimmering inside. He didn't hear much of the conversations around him ("Yes, the Yule ball. I've spend all afternoon looking for nice dress robes, they're impossible to find") and only looked up when he had reached the counter.

"I´d like to change a hundred Galleons for pounds, please," he said to the goblin behind the counter. The goblin nodded and beckoned for Remus to give the Galleons. Remus unceremoniously turned his bag upside down and counted out fifty Galleons, shoving them back in his bag. The goblin took the rest, counted it quickly and scraped it into something that looked like a trashcan. The can was, through a pipe, connected with the main vault of Gringotts, where the money was stored for later use. Then the goblin opened a drawer, licked a long finger and counted out 500** Pounds. **

"Here you go, sir," the goblin said. Remus took the banknotes (so odd, paper money) and put them hastily in his pocket, making way for the next person in the queue. 

He was standing there, with a leather bag that was still heavier than he was used to, and a roll of banknotes in his pocket, and suddenly the Christmas spirit hit him. He realised he was grinning stupidly at the thought of a rich Christmas dinner and lots of presents – albeit self-bought. But he didn't care. He couldn't care less that he looked weird, that people were looking at him as if he'd lost his mind, and, had Umbridge herself showed up to ask him where he'd got all that money, he would've laughed her in the face. Nothing was going to ruin his mood now. 

He walked out of Gringotts into Diagon Alley, and straight to Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. He had been saving money for a new wintercloak, and had calculated that he would be able to buy one next winter, and a good thing too, because he'd been wearing this one for nearly eleven years. Thanks to Sirius, he didn't have to wait and he could afford a really good cloak. 

It was rather busy inside the shop, more busy than usual. It was especially crowded in the corner where the dress robes were hanging, and there nearly broke out a fight over the last red ones. Only the intervention from Madam Malkin herself, and her suggestion that she could magically dye some robes red, prevented a fight between mothers who all wanted their child to be the prettiest. 

Somebody tapped on Remus' shoulder, and he turned around. A tired-looking witch was looking at him, a tape measure around her neck. "May I help you?" she asked, half-sighing. 

Remus was tempted to say he was looking for dress robes, but the witch looked so tortured he didn't have the heart to do it. He wasn't that mean. Instead, he told her he was looking for a new wintercloak. 

Her face lit up, and she started firing questions at him about the size, the length, the colour, the material…She took him to a corner to take his measurements, which she wrote down on a bit of parchment. She then went to the back of the store and came back with what seemed a mass of black wool, but it turned out to be a very rough version of a cloak. 

"You wanted more a coat than a cape, right?" she asked, holding the cloak up for him. 

"Yes, with sleeves, please," he replied, as he put the cloak on. She pinned the sleeves to the right length, sewed them, and added pockets and adjusted the length according to Remus' wishes. Fifteen minutes later, the cloak was finished, and it fitted perfectly. As Remus followed the witch to the counter to pay, he lovingly stroked the wool of the cloak. 

"Would you like to keep it on, sir?" she asked when they'd reached the counter. 

"Yes, please," he said, and pulled out his bag with coins. He counted out forty Galleons. Cloaks were expensive, especially the thicker, warmer winter ones, and especially when they were made according to your wishes, like this one. His old cloak went in a paper bag, he received a receipt, and he was ready to go. 

Remus stopped by the Magical Menagerie to buy some treats for Buckbeak, then he walked through the Leaky Cauldron into the Muggle world. 

~*~

His shopping there went less well. He was used to the crowded but cosy Diagon Alley. This part of London was crowded as well, but not exactly cosy. Remus was nearly run over by a red double-decker bus when he forgot to check the traffic light while crossing a street. And then it started to rain too. 

He decided that the best places to start were the bigger warehouses, so he followed the stream of people, ended up in Harrods, and got so scared by the prices that he immediately walked out (it took him five minutes because it was so busy). 

By now, the rain had subsided into a cold drizzle, and it had started to get dark as well. Remus' day had started so well, but he'd spend three hours buying nothing more than a cloak and some Hippogriff-treats, things were starting to get a bit depressing. 

He took out Sirius' wish-list. The least he could do was buy food and 'something to keep me warm'. And maybe matches too, although Remus had no idea where he could find those. 

He aimlessly started walking down a street, until he found a warehouse called Marks & Spencer's (he first thought it was a supermarket, though). It was about as crowded as Harrods or Madam Malkin's, but he managed to find what he was looking for. He even bought two boxes of matches. 

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas was playing on the radio when he paid for his presents, carefully checking each note to see what number was on it. The song was infectious, and he was humming it all the way home.  

~*~

Christmas certainly was white in Hogsmeade. Remus Apparated to the Apparation Office, a place especially for Apparation and Portkeys, so that there wouldn't be wizards Apparating all over Hogsmeade. When he walked out, thick snowflakes were falling out of a dark grey sky. The sun was already setting even though it was still early in the afternoon. 

Sirius and he hadn't agreed on a place to meet, except Hogsmeade – and the wizard village was fairly large. Remus sighed and started walking down Main Street. Sirius' Animagus form was a big black dog, it would be hard to miss him. 

He found his friend sitting, typically enough, under a notice board with a battered "Have you seen this wizard?"-poster. Remus shook his head but had to laugh at the same time. 

Padfoot noticed him, got to his feet and barked loudly, wagging his tail. Remus dramatically dropped his bags and spread his arms, as if he was welcoming Padfoot to jump into them.

"Padfoot!" he exclaimed. 

He should've realised Sirius always accepted a dare. The big black dog ran towards him, got on his hind-legs, supporting himself with his front paws on Remus' shoulder, and before Remus knew what was going on, Padfoot had licked his face with a huge, long, wet tongue. He shuddered. 

"God, Padfoot, that's disgusting!" he said, pushing the dog away. Padfoot sat down, and it turned out dogs could grin, because that's what he was doing at that moment.  

"Okay, you win," Remus growled, cleaning his face with a handkerchief. "Stupid dog." 

Padfoot barked. 

"Now, show me that cave of yours." Padfoot obediently got to his feet and Remus followed him, out of Hogsmeade into the hills. It was a fairly long climb, and he was breathing heavily when he reached Sirius' cave. Padfoot had four paws to use and he wasn't out of breath at all. He changed back into Sirius while Remus was trying to catch his breath.

"Bad condition?" he asked lightly. 

"Oh sod off you," Remus said. "Here, take this." And he shoved one of the bags in Sirius' arms.

"Oh, presents!" his friend said, peering inside. "Oh, you got them all wrapped." 

"Of course. Unwrapping presents is half the fun." Remus straightened his back. "Phooey. Well, I'm here." 

"Yeah, I see. Hello," Sirius said, suddenly shy. A rather awkward silence followed. In his mind, Remus had lived this moment time and time again, but now it was actually happening, he couldn't find words to say. 

"You look… good," he tried. Sirius sarcastically raised an eyebrow. 

"Do I?" 

"Well, no," Remus said. "But I figured 'you look terrible' wasn't a very social thing to say…" 

Sirius grinned. Remus was right though, his friend had looked better. Although he had gained weight since he'd escaped from Azkaban, nearly eighteen months ago, he was still underfed. His long black hair was a tangled mass, a ratty beard covered his hollow cheeks, and his clothes were in a state Remus didn't even want to think about. But Sirius' eyes shone with pure joy, and that was where Remus saw the old, cheerful, handsome Sirius. 

He didn't know that Sirius was also trying to find his old schoolfriend in the man standing before him. He was used to Remus looking pale and sickly, but he hadn't realised Remus' hair had got so grey, or that the lines in his face were so prominent. But then Sirius noticed that the crowsfeet near Remus' eyes were wrinkles of laughter rather than sorrow. Life had hit hard, but not hard enough to break Remus. 

Sirius laughed and hit his friend on the shoulder. "You look better than I do!" 

"Well, that's a first," Remus smiled. 

"Yeah, it's rather worrying me, actually," replied Sirius lightly. "Now, come in, I´ll introduce you to Buckbeak." 

They got inside the cave. It was barely warmer than outside, and Remus could see frost on the ceiling. Buckbeak was crouched in a corner but he got to his feet when he saw Sirius enter with a stranger. 

"This is Buckbeak," Sirius said. "Buckbeak, this is Remus." 

Remus bowed nervously. He didn't feel comfortable so close near such a sharp beak and talons. Buckbeak bowed too, albeit a bit reluctantly. He seemed to do it more because Sirius wanted it than because he wanted to. Werewolves and Hippogriffs don't mix well. 

Now that was done, Remus put down his bags. "It's freezing in here," he said, stating the obvious. 

"I know," Sirius said. "But I can't make a fire." He pointed to the cold fireplace. 

"Oh c´mon, fires are for Muggles," Remus answered. He took out his wand. "Watch." He waved his wand, and a gold-coloured sort of wall appeared, covering the entrance of the cave. They could still see through it, but the outside world seemed to bathe in a golden light. It suddenly appeared much warmer inside now the cold wind couldn't get in. 

"Better?" 

"Yes, much better," Sirius said. "See, this is why I need a wand." 

Remus conjured up a small fire, floating candles for light and Christmas decorations such as baubles and holly. He left out the mistletoe; Sirius scowled at the mere suggestion, saying that he didn't accidentally want to end up under it with Remus or, God forbid, Buckbeak. 

"Okay, done," Remus said finally. "Now what? Dinner or presents?" 

"Presents!" Sirius said, and immediately made for Remus' bags. 

"God, you're so immature, Padfoot," Remus said, and he grinned. 

"I know. It's one of my better qualities." He picked up a bag. "Is there breakable stuff in it? Can I turn it upside down?" 

Remus nodded, and Sirius immediately turned the bag upside down. Presents rolled over the floor. 

"There're presents for you and one for Buckbeak," Remus told Sirius, helping his friend to gather the presents together. 

"Ah, good." 

The second bag got the same treatment. When the presents were sorted, they sat down on Sirius' make-shift bed. 

"There are no presents for you," Sirius noticed.

"No, all the presents would be a bit too much to take with me. Besides, I'm wearing a present now." And Remus pointed proudly to his cloak. 

"Nice," Sirius nodded. Then he turned his attention towards the presents. "Okay. Do we sing first?" 

"I´d rather not." 

"I do." Sirius scraped his throat and quickly rattled through 'Silent night'. Half the lyrics were made-up because he couldn't remember them. When he was done, Remus said: "now I know what to get you next Christmas. A book with the lyrics to all the Christmas carols." 

"Okay. Now, first present. Let's do Buckbeak´s first, shall we?" Sirius unwrapped the present labelled 'Buckbeak'. "Nice. What it is?" 

"Hippogriff treats. I honestly didn't know what else to give him." 

"Ah, good. Hey, look." Sirius took out one of the dog-biscuit-like treats and threw it towards Buckbeak. The Hippogriff got to his feet in a flash and snatched the treat out of the air. But all Remus could see, staring wide-eyed, was the sharp beak breaking the treat in half. 

"Cool, huh?" Sirius said, excitedly. Remus couldn't really agree with him. 

"Okay, now your presents," he said. Sirius' attention immediately shifted back. 

In the next half hour, he unwrapped the clothes, the matches and the pens and writing paper Remus had bought him. 

"Lots of practical gifts," he noted.

"Yeah, they were out of heads on stakes, and I didn't like the normal lives they had," Remus joked. "And the baths were rather expensive." 

"Well, that's a pity." Sirius pulled a jumper – black, of course – over his head, despite it already being warm inside the cave. The frost on the ceiling had melted and water was dripping on the floor. 

After the presents came the Christmas dinner. Remus had already prepared it and charmed the packets of food to stay cold. He defrosted and unwrapped them. Sirius unpacked the plates and cutlery. When everything was ready, he asked: "can I sing again?" 

"No," Remus said sternly. "I´d like to keep my appetite." 

Sirius pretended to scowl but laughed nonetheless. 

There was no particular order in which they ate the different courses, they just tucked in. There was a short fight over the last bit of Christmas pudding, which Sirius won because Remus wasn't able to resist the puppy dog eyes. 

They didn't talk much, but it turned out they didn't need long reminiscing conversations to get together again. It was enough just to sit opposite each other, and noticing familiar things both had forgotten; Sirius' habit of mashed potatoes with a spoon, or Remus' meticulous way of cutting his meat. 

When they were done eating, Remus packed everything away again, while Sirius sat back. 

"I'm completely stuffed," he announced. "If I eat a bit more I´ll explode. Or get sick." 

"Then it's good we've eaten everything," Remus said. He sat back as well. "But I'm stuffed as well." 

"Hmm." After a few moments silence, Sirius said: "I wonder what's Harry's doing right now."

"Celebrating Christmas, probably," Remus muttered. He was feeling sleepy. 

"There's a Yule ball this year, because of the Triwizard and all, so he's probably dancing."  

Remus raised his head, suddenly awake again. "Can Harry dance?" 

"I don't know. I haven't been there to teach him, so probably not." Sirius winked. "But I bet he dances better than he did when he was one." 

Both burst out laughing at the memory of little Harry shaking his diaper-covered hips on the tunes of his parent's records. 

"Well, maybe he invents a new way of dancing," Remus grinned, causing Sirius to burst out laughing again. 

"As long as Dumbledore doesn't dance that way," he said when he had caught his breath again. The mental image made Remus laugh so hard his jaws hurt. 

"Don't do that to me!" he said finally. 

"As long as it's not Snape," Sirius shrugged, grinning. 

"That's quite impossible to imagine, Snape dancing like a toddler." They both laughed nonetheless. 

"It's quite a disgusting image, actually," Sirius said finally. 

"You started it," Remus pointed out.

"Yeah, but imagine Snape shaking his – ew." Sirius shuddered. 

"Don't think about that!" Remus got on his knees and took Sirius' head between his hands. "I must exorcise you! Think about Harry dancing! Think about that time we walked in on James and Harry dancing!" 

This worked. Sirius laughed, but there was a sad edge to it. "Remember how embarrassed he was?" he said. 

"And how he tried to be cool about it?" 

"Claiming it was completely normal to dance like your one-year old son." 

"As if you never did it." 

"I only made sand-pies with Harry, I never danced." 

"And that is different how?" Remus gently poked Sirius' shoulder. 

"If I recall correctly, you were the one completely ecstatic because Harry managed to say 'Moony' before he said 'Padfoot'." 

"That's because Moony is way easier to say." 

"Doesn't change the fact that you couldn't shut up about it."

"Hm, well, okay, maybe I was a little too enthusiastic about it…" 

"Ahem. Understatement of the century." 

"You want the last bit of wine?" Remus changed the subject.

"For sure." Sirius held up his glass and Remus poured the last drops of wine in it. 

"What time is it anyway?" Sirius asked when he'd drained his glass. 

Remus checked his watch. "Half past eleven."

"Merlin's beard, that late already?" Sirius sighed. "You're going soon, right?" 

"Can't help it, sorry." 

"Nah, it's okay." Sirius scrambled on his knees and started gathering his presents together. Remus started packing his things too, and before long he was ready to go. Sirius walked him to the gold-coloured wall covering the entrance of the cave.

"It'll probably be faded by tomorrow," Remus said, sticking his hand through the wall. It was way colder outside than inside the cave. 

"Pity," Sirius said. He had stuck his hands in his pockets and was looking around the cave. "I like it much better this way."

"I can imagine." Remus tied his scarf around his neck and buttoned his cloak up. He really didn't want to go outside into the cold, but he had to. 

"You will write me, right?" Sirius asked suddenly, urgently. 

"Of course! Why else do you think I gave you that writing paper and those pens?" Remus took Sirius by the shoulders, hesitated a moment, then pulled his friend closer in a warm hug. Sirius hugged back, and muttered into Remus' cloak: "I miss you already." 

"Well, that's silly," Remus said, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "I haven't even left yet." 

Sirius pushed himself out of Remus' arms. "Yes, but you can miss something while it's still there." 

"I know." Remus suddenly felt sad. He didn't want to leave either. But he braced himself and stepped out of the cave. It was still snowing, and snowflakes covered his shoulders and almost immediately melted. Sirius stayed inside and he suddenly seemed gold-coloured. 

Remus waved one final time, and Sirius waved back. Then Remus Apparated, disappearing with a popping sound. 

Sirius stayed on the place where he was standing for several minutes, looking how the place where Remus had been standing was being filled with snow. Then he turned around and made for his bed. 

* * * * * 

Dear Sirius,

Yes, I have to agree, you haven't been very good, but you have done some redeeming things, so I've given you presents anyway. I hope you like them.

Now, this is the first time you don't have to use the back of this letter to reply. Make good use of your new writing paper!

_Father Christmas (Moony for friends)._


	10. Broken bones

**January/February 1995.**

"My transformations in those days were – were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf." 

* * * * * 

Moony,

Did I remember to thank you for your gifts? If not; thank you! If I did; thank you again! It is amazing how much better you life seems with something as ridiculously simple as warm clothes or decent food. 

As you can see I'm not writing on the back of your letter but obediently using the writing paper you gave me. Those Muggle pens are weird though. It took me a while to figure out how they work – you have to press this kind of button before you can write. Quills are much more simple to use. 

Everything's going okay here. Harry's busy preparing for the Second Task, and I have nothing to do but sit and wait until there's something to do.

Padfoot.

* * * * * 

It is strange: when you normally listen to water running out of a tap, it makes hardly any noise. Just a soft rushing. But when you rest your head on the edge of the bathtub, it suddenly seems as if you're standing in the middle of a storm. 

Remus was pondering this very thing while he was waiting until the bath was filled. The noise was quite deafening, actually, and it made his already aching head hurt even more. But he felt too tired and too tortured to lift his head – he didn't want to think about getting up and stepping in the bath in a few minutes, in fact, he doubted if he would be able to. His arm lay limply over the edge, his fingertips just touching the water. They were getting warmer and warmer, strange compared to the rest of his body, which was cold as ice. The Change was always a pain, but even more so when it was winter and one was inclined to aching muscles. 

Let's face the facts and admit it: he was getting old. Maybe not in normal years (after all, thirty-five was not that old) but, considering that he had been a werewolf for thirty years now, it was hardly surprising that Changing got harder. Having every bone in your body broken twice a month does affect your physical condition after all. 

He decided the tub was full enough, so he turned off the tap and, with some difficulty, climbed in. He got goosebumps all over when the warmth of the water enveloped him.  

He didn't usually take baths, normally he took a shower – the fact that he didn't quite fit into the tub being the main reason. He had to chose between either cold shoulders or cold knees. Remus was lucky that he was quite thin; he twisted and wriggled a bit and finally came to rest in a sort of s-position with his knees just a bit above the water. His mind slipped into a sort of meditative state, only half-conscious. 

His breathing eased when he got warmer and his muscles relaxed. He lay there dozing in the tub until the water was cold again, then he climbed out. He only half-heartedly dried himself, staggered towards the bed, fell down on it, covered himself up and almost immediately fell asleep.

He hated these times of the month. 

~*~

January had always been Remus' least favourite month. The holidays were over, the new year had started, but it was cold and dark outside and you had to endure three months before the weather improved and you could start enjoying the new year. Until then it was a matter of hiding indoors, wearing thick jumpers and comfortable slippers. It was a way of hibernating until the spring started again.

It was exactly the method Remus chose to survive the winter. He was sitting at his kitchen table, wearing a comfortable, worn but warm jumper. He was holding a cup of steaming tea in his cold hands, which served the double purpose of warming his hands and his insides. It was a week after the full moon. He was bowed over the Daily Prophet, but he wasn't really interested in it. Even the wizarding paper suffered January Disease; it was filled with random and uninteresting articles. The only page worth reading was the page with letters to the editor – there was a lively debate going on whether Dumbledore had been right in hiring Hagrid as the Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Many who had known Hagrid themselves dismissed Rita Skeeter´s article as complete rubbish, but they were being heavily opposed by people who thought that 'half-creatures' had no business teaching young children. It made Remus smile wryly. 

He raised his head in surprise when he heard the doorbell ring. He wasn't expecting someone, and he really couldn't think of anybody who could visit him now. Only one way to find out, he thought. He got up, walked toward the door and opened it. 

To his surprise, Romulus was standing outside. He looked as cheerful as ever.

"Hello!" he said.

"What the huh?" Remus answered intelligently. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well thank you!" Romulus pretended to be offended. "See if I ever pay you a visit again…" 

"You surprised me, that's all." Remus beckoned his brother to get inside. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be working hard and dutifully for the Ministry?" 

"But I am!" Romulus took of his coat and followed Remus into the kitchen. "There was this guy, not so far from here, who thought it fun to break the ban on experimental breeding, and they send me to sort it out – well, I volunteered actually. I heard something interesting that I'm sure will… well, interest you." 

"Tell me, tell me." Remus offered Romulus something to drink but the younger Lupin politely declined.

"I must be heading off soon, I only got a couple of minutes. How are you?" 

"Could be better. I'm getting old, really. Now, what did you had to tell?"

"Curious, are we?" Romulus grinned.

"Well, if you drop a tantalising hint and then avoid the matter you can expect people get curious!"

"Okay, I´ll tell." Romulus took a comfortable position, leaning against the table. "I was going to get some coffee the other day – "

"This is part of what you wanted to tell me, right?" Remus asked sceptically. He knew his younger brother longer than today. 

"If you'll just let me finish! Well, as I was saying, I was going for coffee the other day, and there's a central coffee machine for the entire floor, which is absolutely horrible because in the morning there are always a lot of people waiting, and of course you're always the one who has to refill the thing because it has just run out of coffee when it's your turn –"

"I fail to see the interesting point of this story."

"I'm coming to it. Well, I met this guy, with the unoriginal name of Jones, he's working at the Werewolf Registry and he's the youngest so he always has coffee duty, which means that he has to get coffee for everybody. Anyway, he knows my name is Lupin, but he doesn't know about you. So you can understand my surprise when he asked if we were related. Of course, there is no point in lying, so I told him we were, and then he told me you had more or less single-handedly turned the Registry upside-down." 

"What?" Remus was taken aback. "What did I do?" 

"Yeah, that was what I asked: 'what did he do this time?'" Romulus cocked his head. "You never told me where you got that nice cloak of yours." 

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Is it about that?" 

"Yep. They apparently got this note from Gringotts that you'd got 200 galleons from an anonymous giver, and you weren't allowed to get it of course, but they can't make you anything, because you don't have it anymore – you made it mysteriously disappear, and they need proof that you did something against the law. How did you do it anyway?" 

Remus stopped his little victory dance and said: "easy. Changed it into Muggle money. Nobody checks who's changing how many Galleons into Pounds, so I took one hundred Galleons, changed it into Pounds, and there I was." 

"Genius," Romulus laughed. "Well, you've distressed the entire Registry, and even angered the great Umbridge herself, who was reportedly smashing tables, screaming bloody murder and that she wanted you alive and all." 

"Really?" 

"Nah, just made that up. She was angry though." He glanced at the clock. "Hey, I gotta go." 

"I´ll show you the door." 

"Don't bother, I've seen it before." It was a bit of a corny joke, but Remus laughed nonetheless. He opened the door for his brother, who got out. 

"You come and visit us again soon?" Romulus asked.  

"Sure I will. Not sure when though." 

"Okay." Romulus waved goodbye and Apparated back to London. Remus shook his head, grinning, and got back in. Even Umbridge…

~*~

His lifted spirits lasted for almost two weeks. His Wolfsbane Potion arrived in time again. Remus had send Snape a rather long letter of thanks, but the Potion Master had never replied to it. Remus figured acknowledging gratitude was not something Snape did. Unless it was in an immensely disdainful way, in front of a lot of people, with a few sneers and sarcastic comments. Not something you could do in a letter. 

The nearer the full moon came, the moodier Remus got. His last Change hadn't been a pleasant experience – compared to the other Changes, at least – and he actually dreaded this one, something he hadn't done in quite some time. He thought he'd got used to it, it was something inevitable, much like going to the dentist or having an injection – it took a few painful moments and then it was over again. You shouldn't think about it too much. But for the first time in years, he found himself worrying about what could go wrong. 

He was nervous on the night in question. He found himself pacing through his house, but he didn't really do anything. His restless mood rubbed off on Monster, and the two of them spend most of their day wandering from room to room and annoying one another. 

Remus made a small meal for himself when it started to get dark – he was too nervous to each much. Another thing he hated about January, and winter in general, was that the nights were longer than the days, so the Change came earlier. 

Darkness fell, and he undressed himself reluctantly, almost too late. He was already covered in a thin, lightbrown fur when he pulled the last piece of clothing off. He watched apprehensively as the fur thickened, and when the bones started to snap, he bit his lower lip until it bled. 

~*~

Sometimes, it is literally a pain being right. Whether it was just a coincidence or his negative thoughts influencing things, Remus would never know. He did know something was completely wrong when he changed back the next morning.

At least, he couldn't remember having such a hump on top of one of his feet, or that same feet seemed to be folded double. 

He paled when he realised what had happened. His bones had grown back in a wrong position. He immediately grabbed his right feet, feeling the damage, but the bones were unmoveable. The muscles, the veins, the nerves, all were back and doing their work perfectly – except in the wrong position. 

A foot is one of the more complex parts in the human body. It consist of twenty-six bones, varying in size, and it looks oddly much like a hand. It all fits together like a complex jigsaw, unless you break it all, stupidly don't let someone set the bones right, and let it all grow back wrongly. And that was exactly what Remus had done: in ten minutes time his bones were broken, they had set themselves in the wrong place, the muscles were stretched over the bones, and it was done. The whole thing was working again. Remus could even move his toes a little bit. His foot seemed to think everything was back to normal.

Or not. 

Remus scrambled to his feet, and immediately pulled up his right leg when he felt the pain. It was okay when he was sitting on the floor, but the moment he put weight on the foot, it protested. Come to think of it, when he looked at the poor limp, it looked sickeningly disfigured. Apart from the hump on top (it looked as though somebody had tried to press the toes and the heel towards each other), it seemed as if he was walking on the side of his foot instead of the sole. Usually there is a layer of flesh and, if you regularly walk barefoot, callosity between the bones and the floor. Now Remus was walking directly on one of the bones in his disfigured foot. 

He could think of only one thing to do. He put some clothes on (only one shoe, the other didn't fit), and Apparated to London, to St Mungo´s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

~*~

When he arrived, he made sure to land on one foot, but he nearly lost his balance and staggered against a street lantern. There were only a few other people in the street, who looked oddly at Remus. He ignored them and limped towards the window display. He didn't take the time for long conversations; he told the dummy that he needed a Healer and she let him through with merely a tiny nod. 

The hall of the wizarding hospital was fairly quiet. It was rather early in the morning – just past nine o'clock – and there were only a few early patients and Healers walking about. Remus limped towards the floor guide. He figured he fell under the 'creature-induced injuries'-category. Ignoring the welcome-witch, he limped on, but he stopped when he reached the stairs. Oh Merlin. How am I supposed to get up there?

"Can I help you?" He turned around. There was a Healer standing behind him, wearing the familiar green robe embroided with the St Mungo's emblem. The Healer looked younger and healthier than Remus, and he suddenly felt twice as old. 

"Uhm, yeah, I need to get up there," he said, gesturing weakly towards the staircase. 

"Ah. Just a second." The Healer took out his wand and waved it; a wheelchair came zooming towards them. At least, it looked like a wheelchair, except that it didn't have wheels: it hovered above the ground. Remus sat himself down with relief, and carefully placed his injured foot on the foot rest. 

"Hold on, please," said the Healer. He pushed the wheelchair (or, rather, hoover-chair) towards the staircase, but he didn't stop when he reached it. Instead, he kept walking on. The chair floated upwards, just enough above the steps to avoid hitting them with the foot rest. 

When they reached the first floor, the Healer asked Remus: "did you have an appointment with a Healer, sir?" 

"No, I need help with my foot." Remus pointed at his poor foot to emphasise his point. 

"Let's see what's the problem then." The Healer steered Remus into something that seemed to be an examination room; there were a desk, a hospital bed, and some strange devises Remus had no idea of what they were for. The Healer helped him on the bed, then bowed over Remus' foot, carefully prodding and feeling. 

"This is very strange," he muttered. "It seems as if it was broken years ago, and then grown back the wrong way. But that can't be, can it?" He looked at Remus. "Whatever happened?" 

Remus sighed. He had waited for this question to be asked, but he didn't like to answer it. Better keep it short then. "I am a werewolf. And this morning, something went wrong. I don't know why." 

The face of the Healer lit up. It was actually quite freaky, Remus thought. As if I am some weird case he's only read about. Wait, I probably am. Drat.

"Could you wait here, please," the Healer said excitedly (though he tried to conceal it), "I´ll go and get someone with more – experience in this kind of things." 

"Yeah, sure, I won't go anywhere," Remus muttered darkly as the Healer hurried away. "It's not like I can anyway." He didn't like the sound of 'someone with more experience in this kind of things'. He was already imagining some kind of weird professor with a chainsaw who liked to cut werewolves open while they were still alive, when the Healer in question walked in. He didn't look at all like a murdering madman. In fact, he reminded Remus oddly of his own father. He gave Remus a firm handshake and introduced himself as "Fortune." Remus hoped that the man was true to his name. 

"Well, let's see what is the matter here," the man said jovially. "Harvey, if you could…" The first Healer was already rolling one of the strange medical devises towards the bed. It seemed like a kind of projection machine, with the lens turned upwards, as if they wanted to project a movie against the ceiling. On one side of the box, there was a copper-coloured hoop. Harvey rolled the machine next to the bed, the hoop just above the bed. 

"Now, if you could stick your foot through the hoop, please," Fortune instructed. Remus obediently did so, curious as to what was going to happen. 

The moment he had stuck his foot through the hoop, the machine had switched on. It did turn out to be some kind of projection machine; a light switched on, and there appeared a life-size projection of a foot, or at least what should have been a foot, in 3D. It was just like a hologram, and it made Remus think of the science fiction books Sirius used to read. 

Fortune bowed over the projection, carefully studying it. Harvey was waiting in the background, excitedly wriggling his fingers. It almost made Remus wonder whether Healers got a financial bonus if they brought interesting patients in – it would almost seem so. 

"Interesting," Fortune muttered. He started prodding the projection, but instead of going right through it, his fingers could touch it. He moved the bones around, almost as if he was making a complicated jigsaw. Finally, the projection-foot was back to normal. Now only the real-life version…

"Very interesting," Fortune commented. "I've hardly seen this before. You may remove your foot." Remus immediately pulled his leg back, and the projection disappeared as soon as he had pulled his foot out of the hoop. Harvey rolled the machine back on its original place.

"But you have done this before, right?" Remus asked. "I mean, you do know what to do, don't you?" 

"Yes, of course I do!" He helped Remus sit up. "It's not a common problem, but it happens sometimes. Once, I've encountered a lycantrope whose spine was out of joint. Complete disaster, we didn't dare mess with the nerves, so he had to wait an entire month before he Changed again and we could push everything back into position. And it was a race against time too, before he'd start eating us." 

Remus wondered if this story was supposed to be uplifting.

"Now, what I'm going to do will only hurt a little bit." Fortune turned towards Harvey. "Could you get… Port and Wikinson please?" Harvey nodded and left the room. Fortune then went on to take Remus' leg and stretch it out on the bed. He felt it carefully, just like Harvey had done. It tickled a bit.

"What are you going to do then?" Remus asked finally, after a few moments of silence. 

"I´ll have to break the foot again and set it right," Fortune said, ridiculously cheerful.

Remus paled. 

"I´ll think I´ll just wait another month, okay," he peeped. 

"Now, that's impossible, you can't walk around with a foot like this for the rest of the month. You'll be anaesthetised, it won't hurt a bit." 

"Yes, that's what the dentist always says before pulling a tooth," he muttered darkly. Fortune laughed. "You're amusing, Mr Lupin." 

Remus started wishing the mad professor with the chainsaw was here. Even more so when Harvey came back with Port and Wilkinson, who turned out to be two squarely build Healers. Fortune instructed one, Wilkinson, to stand by the head of the bed, to keep Remus down in case he decided to run in panic (jump out of the window more like, he thought miserably) while Port took position by the foot end, to keep Remus leg in check. Harvey had taken a more passive role; he was standing in the background, keeping an interested eye on everything that happened.    

Fortune pulled out his wand, and Remus already flinched, but the Healer just waved it over Remus' foot. A prickling feeling went through his leg, and it felt oddly much as if his leg was sleeping. After a few moments, his foot felt thick and limp, and heavy. Fortune prodded it, but Remus couldn't feel it. 

"Ready?" 

Wilkinson and Port nodded, but Remus felt like shaking his head like a madman. Fortune paid no attention to him, however. As he took Remus' foot, Wilkinson put an arm over Remus' chest, keeping him down. Without realising, Remus grabbed Wilkinson´s wrist, squeezing tightly. 

The first stage of the operation was over before he knew it. Fortune tapped Remus' foot with his wand, and Remus could see something was happening, although he could not feel it. The bones in his foot suddenly seemed to be much looser, not so tight against one another. Remus was about to comment that it indeed wasn't so bad, when Fortune put his wand down and pressed with all his might and all his weight on Remus' foot. 

Remus gasped for breath. He certainly did feel that! Port was holding his right leg down, but not his other leg, and he reflexively pulled it towards his chest. His other leg jerked as if it wanted to follow, but Port held it down so tightly he couldn't move. Remus felt like screaming his lungs out, but all that came out was an strange "eep!" 

Fortune's efforts seemed to have given the results he wanted. He had taken Remus' foot in both hands, and seemed to be massaging it with his thumbs. He pressed on the top of the foot, until something seemed to click. He then went on to carefully kneading the rest of the foot, pushing little bones into their place. 

The owner of the foot looked at his limp as if he'd never seen it before. He held on to Wilkinson as if for dear life, staring wide-eyed at the Healer who was pushing his foot back into shape as if it was made of modelling clay. 

Finally, Fortune rubbed over Remus' toes, clicking the phalanxes back into position. He kept massaging it, making sure everything was alright, and Remus' lycantropy did the rest. 

"Amazing," the Healer said. "That regenerating never ceases to amaze me." He then turned to Remus. "Now, Mr Lupin, that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

Remus opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was "eep." 

~*~

Sirius had the idea he was going mad. At least, he didn't think counting all the matches in three boxes and making a schedule to see how long you could do with them, normal and sane. 

But at least it helped him through another day. 

It was already February, and it had been over a month since he'd had some company. Human company anyway. By now he'd do anything to get rid of the utter boredom that attacked him everyday. 

Of course, he went down to Hogsmeade everyday to raid the trashcans for food or papers, and he usually had letters to write to either Dumbledore or Remus – the most frequent writers. And sleeping usually took up a lot of his time. But then there were still about eight hours to pass. 

He was currently doing one of his other ways to pass a lot of time – lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Buckbeak was off hunting or whatever he usually did, Sirius couldn't care less actually. He was fed up with the hippogriff. And he was fed up with the boring ceiling. In fact, he was fed up with everything. Nothing ever happened. 

He sat upright again, staring moodily into space. The rest of the world had fun, while he was stuck here with only a stupid animal to talk to, and all because some dirty, lying, traitorous – here he used a word for which he would've scolded Harry if he ever used it – thought it okay to betray his best friends. 

He sighed. Something needed to happen soon, else he'd make something happen. 

And knowing him, it would probably be something stupid.

* * * * * 

Padfoot,

I don't think you'd thanked me on Christmas, but now you have. Thanks for your thanks. 

I'm sorry you have nothing better to do than sit around and wait, it must be very boring. Perhaps my news will cheer you up. I'm sure you'll laugh: I've been appointed exercises to get more lithe. Yes, it is as stupid as it sounds. Every morning I have to stretch and bend and what-not, it's insane. Where was the time I could Change and go back to class the same afternoon?

Moony, who feels old, very old…    


	11. A new hope?

Well. This chapter was supposed to be longer than it turned out (and it's even longer than I expected it would be!). The reason (or excuse) for that is that it more or less sets up a plot, and I had the choice between either making this chapter ridiculously long, or cutting a piece of and leaving the rest to the next chapter. I decided to do that instead. Not that I thought you wouldn't like a ridiculously long chapter, but I´d been suffering a small writers block the past few days, so I decided to take it easy and wait until my muse was in a better mood again. I promise you more excitement, more characters and more dialogue next chapter! 

**February 1995.**

"My parents tried everything, but in these days, there was no cure." 

* * * * * 

I´d say it's a good thing that you're getting old. Okay, sorry, stupid comment.

Seriously, Prongs and I never understood how you could Change and get back to class the same afternoon. Or why you wanted to do that, for that matter. We would've grabbed our chance to skip class with both hands. Especially History of Magic. But then we figured it had probably something to do with the fact that you wanted top marks, to become a Prefect.

Yes, sitting and waiting is boring, but I think it's even worse for Harry, who has no idea how he's supposed to survive the Second Task. 

He's also wrote to tell me something interesting about Moody and Snape. You've probably heard that Mad-Eye's teaching at Hogwarts, and Harry sort of overheard a conversation between the two of them. Apparently Moody doesn't trust old Snivellus one bit. Not that I would, mind. But there is something fishy about Snape – Moody's paranoid, but he's usually right. I wonder what he knows that we don't.

Padfoot.

* * * * *

Remus lazily opened one eye. The dark-blue curtains turned the entire room blue, which was kind of weird. Remus stretched out one arm and grabbed the alarm clock on his bedside table. Half past nine. He half-threw the alarm clock back and rolled on his other side. He didn't want to get up yet. He dozed off again. 

A soft thudding on the stairs made him wake up. Monster had found a way to climb stairs by bouncing from step to step, and he was now coming up the stairs to see why Remus wasn't out of bed yet. The furry animal had taken a slightly annoying interest in Remus' exercises, because he couldn't for the life of him understand why his caretaker all of a sudden had started bowing and stretching and groaning when he got out of bed, instead of just making breakfast like he used to. 

He had reached Remus' bedroom and pushed the door, which was always slightly ajar, further open to sneak in. Remus pretended to be asleep again, and Monster scurried under his bed and started purring and growling softly. 

"Get out, I'm asleep," Remus said. This was too obvious a lie to believe. Monster purred even more loudly and started tugging the bed sheets, holding a corner of the sheet between his tiny teeth. 

"All right, all right," Remus groaned. "It's just because you get breakfast after this, right?" He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The chilly air gave him goosebumps. He rubbed his eyes and yawned widely. He'd stayed up reading too long yesterday. Monster bounced expectantly and excitedly up and down. Glaring at the animal, Remus got to his feet. He shivered in the cold, and picked up a T-shirt to pull over his head before he walked to the window to draw the curtains open. Outside it was a clear day, the sun shone but not bright enough to bring any warmth. A thin layer of frost lay over the grass. Remus shivered again. It was too cold, he didn't want to do those stupid exercises, he felt like a complete idiot when he was doing them. Sighing, he went to stand on his usual spot, at the foot end of his bed. He looked at Monster, who looked back, almost grinning (even though that wasn't really possible for a Puffskein). Remus pulled a face. He looked longingly at his bed, then back at Monster, who sat there looking up at Remus, silent for a moment.

Then Remus said, "ah, forget it," picked up his pet and climbed back into bed. It was not as if anyone would notice him not doing those exercises anyway.

~* ~

It was already a few hours later when Remus finally poured himself a cup of tea and placed the plate with leftovers for Monster on the floor. As his pet started eating its breakfast, Remus folded open the _Daily Prophet_, in search for interesting news.

February was almost halfway over, and the Second Task in the Triwizard Tournament was drawing near. There were page-long articles to warm people up for it again, reminding the readers what the first Task had been about, what the score was so far, and who the Champions were. Remus remembered Sirius' depressing message that Harry wasn't sure if, and how, he'd survive the Second Task, and he anticipated the event rather with a feeling of dread than excitement. 

After breakfast, Remus went upstairs again. He had decided to sort out his clothes, to see what was wearable and what was too torn and shabby to wear. In or out of fashion was not an issue with his budget, and some of his clothes were so old they were almost fashionable again anyway. 

He took a small pause when he was halfway through. There were two neat piles on his bed, a small one with clothes which really couldn't be worn anymore, and a larger one with clothes which were reasonably acceptable, if you didn't look too closely. He went downstairs for a drink, then climbed back up to finish the job. 

There was a distinct rustling of paper when he took his summercloak from its peg. He had always had the habit of stuffing his pockets with random things, such as keys, papers, coins and even sweets. He had somehow forgotten to empty his pockets when he had begun wearing his wintercloak.

Remus scooped the junk and other stuff out of the pockets and onto his desk. He'd sort it out later. The cloak was still wearable, so it was put on the right pile, and Remus went on to see which socks had holes in them and which socks didn't. 

He only remembered the 'pocket-stuff', as he had dubbed it, when he was done sorting everything and walked past his desk, the rejected clothes in his arms. He made a mental note to sort that out as well, and he thus returned to his room when he had thrown the clothes away (they were too worn-out for a second-hands clothes shop). 

To his surprise, it turned out that a pencil he had been looking for, had been in the pocket of his summercloak. He really needed to search his pockets more often. 

A lot of the rest was just junk, wrappers of sweets and receipts, and he threw it all in the bin. 

He also found seven knuts, which he stuffed into the pocket of his trousers (hoping that this time he didn't forget about them). He then went on to fold the larger pieces of paper open. 

To his surprise, most of them turned out to be leaflets. Remus frowned and tried to figure out when and where he had got those – and then he remembered. They had been pushed into his hands at the werewolf protest at the Ministry, a few months ago. He had completely forgotten about them – at that time he had had other things to worry about. 

He sat down on his bed and started to read them through. Quite a few of them were from self-proclaimed fighters for werewolf-rights – they promised they would lobby in the Ministry for better living conditions and more rights for werewolves. But the tone always seemed insincere and self-conceited. 'Look at me, I fight for the right of werewolves, aren't I great?', something like that. Two others were advertisements for jobs, and the would-be employer assured him that it absolutely didn't matter he was a werewolf – but Remus couldn't help but notice that neither of the jobs required much thinking, and the career-prospects weren't that great either. Apparently it was okay that he was a werewolf, but he shouldn't suddenly act spoiled and start making demands. What was he thinking, payment above the minimum? He should be happy he had a job! 

Remus noticed he was getting sarcastic, and he quickly leafed through the other leaflets. They all fit in the 'yeah, really, we have a cure, believe us'-category. Remus had seen – and done – it all; the herbs, the potions, the charms, the amulets, the diets. He and his parents had decided to stop trying to find a cure when he was nine. At that moment he had tried a cream that was guaranteed to work, instead it gave him a terrible rash that made him scratch his skin even when the moon wasn't full and his coming fur wasn't itching. When he started scratching his skin open again, his parents made him stop using the cream, and the rash had disappeared a week later. He had never tried anything since, and accepted that there was no cure. 

He was about to get up and throw the leaflets away, when his eye fell on the last leaflet. The message was the same, a new cure, but the tone was completely different. It wasn't arrogant or condescending, but instead it was friendly and almost shy. Instead of 'we have found a cure', it said 'we think we have found something that might work…' Interested, he started to read. 

It wasn't that surprising he hadn't tried this method before, because it was a fairly new approach. The last few years, there was a growing group of witches and wizards who wanted to go 'back to nature', because today's society was too bend on making money. Remus was quite familiar with the Muggle-branche of this point of view, because they had been the main buyers of Lova's paintings. And Lova, opportunistic as always, had managed to make quite a nice living out of them. But he had no real experience with the wizarding version, except reading about them sometimes, if there had once again been a protest to stop using kneazles, puffskeins and murtlaps for potion-testing. Remus had no idea they were interested in werewolves. 

He read the leaflet through again. Instead of looking for a cure, to completely get rid of the Wolf, this method seemed more based on acceptance, and just letting it be. If the lycantropy got no resistance, they reasoned, it would eventually give up and go away – maybe. 

Remus had to admit he was intrigued – and yet a bit sceptical. He wondered how long they'd been thinking about this theory. Had they been talking to a werewolf about it? It sounded all a bit too "think happy thoughts" to him. But on the other hand, if it did work…

He pondered it a few more minutes, then sat down at his desk and took a sheet of parchment and a quill. Even if it didn't work, he'd have some new experiences and meet some new people. He dipped the tip of the quill in the inkbottle and started writing. 

~*~

It was the 24th of February. The day of the Second Task. 

This kept pounding through Padfoot´s head as he nervously trotted up to the gates of Hogwarts. He had been restless, and had found himself unable to stay in his cave, so he had changed from Sirius into Padfoot, and walked down to Hogsmeade, just to give himself something to do. But the wizard village was nothing new to him, so he had wandered off towards the edge of the village. He had been at the Shrieking Shack, which stood deserted and quiet in the sun. Padfoot had stared at it for a few moments, resting with his front paws on the fence around it, but the Shack seemed a different one than the one he had visited so often, years ago. It somehow seemed smaller and more dilapidated than it used to. 

Sighing because nothing ever seemed to stay the same, he had wandered off again, only realising he had walked to the Hogwarts gates when he nearly walked into the pillars with the winged boars on them. He sat down and stared moodily in the direction he knew the lake was in. He had made an absolute promise to Dumbledore that he wouldn't come on the grounds, to visit Harry, in case someone caught him. And besides, Harry had a complicated year as it was, without a dog-shaped Godfather to add more trouble and worry.

Padfoot started and jumped up when a carriage suddenly rattled past. The Thestrals pulling the carriage paid no attention to him, which was a good thing. He had seen them before, but they still freaked him out a little, with their dragonish head and wings.

He caught only a glimpse of the people in the carriage – the orange blur of red hair, the flash of glasses in the sunlight, someone with blond hair who looked like Ludo Bagman. It was only a glimpse – then the carriage was past the black dog, and rode towards Hogwarts, and out of sight. 

Padfoot wished with all his might that he was in that carriage, being driven towards Hogwarts, towards the lake, towards Harry. Harry had only written his Godfather what he knew of the Task, and that was almost nothing. He had to retrieve something from the bottom of the lake, but what? And how? Sirius himself had been racking his brain to see if he happened to know a way to survive under water for such a long time, but he couldn't find anything. The bottom of the lake had always been the Squid's ground, and the Marauders had stayed out of it, most of the time (unless it was very warm and going for a swim seemed an absolute necessity). 

The nervosity got hold of him again, and he got to his feet (paws, he corrected himself) and set off again. The problem was that he had no idea what time it was – dogs don't have watches, and Sirius hadn't had a watch in almost fourteen years. He knew that the Task began at half past nine, and he guessed the people he had just seen were the other Jury Members, but he would give anything, anything to see it all himself, and not hear it from someone else, even if that person was Harry. 

Which reminded him; Harry and his friends would come and visit him the weekend after next. Finally a chance to really talk to him, instead of having a few stolen minutes through somebody else's fire. This prospect was a good thing, because else he'd really start to feel useless.

* * * * * 

"It's a good thing you're getting old." Ha – ha – ha. Really funny, Padfoot. 

Just as you two couldn't understand why I wanted to follow classes, I couldn't understand why you two didn't want to follow them – History of Magic wasn't that bad, was it? 

I expect that Moody knows a lot of stuff we don't, or we don't want to know, for that matter. But you're right, it is intriguing. As far as I know, Snape hasn't done anything to attract Mad-Eye's attention. Maybe he's jealous that Snape has such a huge nose, while Moody has barely got any nose left?

Just kidding.

Moony. 


	12. Sumowrestling and Harry's visit

The quote is (again, I used that book for "Prisoner" as well) from _Oz; into the Wild_ by an author who's name I can't remember. Oh well.

By the way, I'm also contradicting my own fanfiction in this chapter: in the chapter "Halloween" of Remus Lupin, Sirius recognises Peter's tattoo as the Dark Mark, yet in this chapter he doesn't know what it could be! My excuse will have to be that that particular chapter of RL was written nearly three years ago (spring 2001!), as one of the first pieces of fanfict I ever wrote, and I'd only read GoF a few times, not enough to pick up little details like that. And else I can always say Azkaban affected his memory!  
The first scene is dedicated to three people: my mother, who explained to me how wet shaving is done. My grandfather, who used to do it and who let me watch when I was younger, and Gary Oldman, who did it in _Bram Stoker's Dracula_ and who almost made me wish I was Keanu Reeves (were it not that my mom would've fancied me then, which is too gross to think about...).  
Chapter:  
  
**March 1995.**  
_"I'm not looking for a cure. Just some control."   
* * * * *   
Well that's typical. You scold me for making an – admitted – rather lame joke, and yet you make a rather feeble joke yourself, in the same letter no less! Tssk, Moony. Judge not lest ye be judged yourself, and all that (didn't Lily used to say that when we were going on about how stupid Snape was? I seem to remember something like that).   
Anyway, speaking, or rather writing, about Snape – Harry has promised he'll visit me the next Hogsmeade weekend he has (in other words: coming Saturday). Hopefully I´ll hear more about Snivvy and Moody then.  
Snivvy, Moody, Moony, Lily, Harry – too many names ending on –y here…  
Paddy (that's Padfoot to you!).  
* * * * * _  
Remus turned on the tap and watched the water plunge into the sink. He waited until it was warm, then he filled the washbasin with warm water. He took the bowl with shaving cream and the brush and studied his reflection in the mirror for a moment before he started to cover his cheeks and throat with the white cream, working swiftly with short strokes.   
He had staggered into the bathroom that morning, had taken one look at his reflection, and he had immediately decided that it was time he'd shave himself again. His cheeks were covered with a full three-week beard – even though it was only four days since he'd last shaved. It was just his bad that there happened to be a full moon among those four days.   
He put down the brush again and picked up his razor. The metal gleamed pale when he moved it, and he was, as always, suddenly fascinated by the sharpness of the cutting edge of the blade, and of the veins, so suddenly so visibly, in his wrists. And as always he ignored this feeling, so similar of the urge to throw oneself off when one looks down from a great height. Instead, he put the razor on his cheek and carefully started shaving himself, ever so often wiping the blade with the warm water. Pretty soon, his mind wandered off to find something more interesting to think about, keeping him just concentrated enough to prevent himself from cutting his cheek.   
This afternoon, he would meet two members of the 'nature-group', as he had dubbed them. He had no idea what to expect, what they would be like or how they would defend their idea, or whether he'd be the only werewolf who was interested. Judging by the letter he had got in response to the one he send to them, he'd think that he was the only one, so grateful was the tone.   
He didn't expect them to have actually _found_ a cure. He had tried too many things to have high expectations of people claiming they knew how to cure Lycantropy. On the other hand – what if it did work?   
The thought made his hand shake, and he flinched when he cut himself. _Concentrate, Remus!_ he scolded himself. He wiped the shaving cream away from the cut and watched as the thin red line faded and disappeared. He suddenly realised that if he got cured, something as simple as cutting himself at shaving would be a much bigger deal. Come to think of it – did he really want to be 'normal'?   
Remus stared his reflection-self in the eye, the razor forgotten in his hand. When he was younger, all he wanted was to be normal, like everybody else. Back then, he would've grabbed the chance to lift 'the Curse' with both hands. But now… it would turn his life upside-down, it would chance everything. And he was thirty-five already. He had been a werewolf most of his life, he could barely remember what it was like not to change into a man-eating monster once a month. He wasn't sure if he could cope with getting used to being human again.  
He looked at his eyes, shining pale yellow in the morning light, and he suddenly found himself wondering what colour his eyes would get. Would they stay the same? Or change back to their normal brown colour, like they were on the old photos from before he got bitten?   
He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about this, he shouldn't get his hopes up. Chances were it wouldn't work anyway.   
He lifted his razor and quickly finished shaving, avoiding his own eyes.   
~*~  
The small tea-room was so much darker than it was outside that it took Remus a few moments to adjust. He narrowed his eyes, blinking, standing hesitantly on the doorstep. It was fairly quiet inside, only three other people were enjoying a drink, talking softly about the fine weather and what-not. The people he was supposed to meet, didn't appear to be there. He checked his watch. Well, he was a few minutes too early anyway.  
He got inside and ordered a cup of tea, which was brought to him a minute later. He sat down at a round table in the corner, waiting nervously. He realised now that he should've come too late – waiting for them to show up was even worse. He kept glancing at the round clock on the wall, but the hands didn't seem to move.   
He had just finished his tea and was thinking about whether he'd order a new cup or not, when the small bell above the door gently rang, and two women came in.   
Remus wouldn't have been surprised if they had revealed themselves Trelawney´s sisters. They had the same way of dressing – loose clothes and lots of scarves in earth-colours. One of them had grey hair, tied in a messy bun, the other, only slightly younger one had her long brown hair hanging loosely down her back. They looked around the tea-room, and Remus gave a short nod when he saw their eyes on him, to show them that he was the one they were looking for. They headed over to him.   
"Goodafternoon," the oldest of the two said. After a slight moment of hesitating, she stuck her hand out. "I'm Sabina Smith."   
"Remus Lupin," Remus introduced himself, shaking her hand.   
"And this is Ruth Williams," Sabina introduced her companion. Remus shook hands again, and the three of them took a seat.   
"I'm sorry we're so late," Sabina apologised. Apparently she had taken it upon herself to maintain a conversation. "We had bad traffic."   
"Oh, it's not big deal," Remus said hurriedly. "It wasn't such a long wait." A rather uncomfortable silence followed. Remus had never been one for chit-chats and small-talk, and the two women sitting with him didn't know what to talk about. He was about to ask whether there were others coming as well, when the door opened again. Three people stepped over the threshold, a man, woman and a small girl with pale-blond, almost white hair. The moment Remus got sight of the girl, he knew they were here for the same reason as he was. The parents were looking around the room, trying to see who they were supposed to meet, but the little girl looked directly at Remus and smiled shyly. He in his turn got the same feeling he'd always got with Wulf and Lova – a sense of familiarity. He smiled at her, and she took her mothers hand and started tugging her towards the round table in the corner. Once they'd reached it, the girl immediately sat down on the chair next to Remus and smiled at him. He smiled back.   
There was the unavoidable introduction ("Nathan and Ann Mills. And this is Fay"), then Ruth when for more tea and cake.   
"Fay?" Remus asked the girl. "Fay as in Morgan le Fey?"   
"Yep," she said, beaming. "Except that I'm with an A." She pointed ten fingers at him and mimicked firing a spell. "I'm going to bewitch you!"   
Remus laughed. "You're quite a dangerous witch! Did you know that Fay is sometimes used as another word for fairy?" She pulled a face.  
"I don't want to be a fairy, they're boring," she said. "I want to be a pixie, so I can bite!" She snapped her teeth together with an audible clack and smiled.   
"Fay!" her mother reprimanded. Fay's smile faded and she got quiet.   
Ruth returned with a serving tray with tea, cake and chocolate milk for Fay. They drank and ate in silence. Fay had recovered from the reprimand, and had begun glancing at Remus with a mischievous gleam in her yellow eyes, although she pretended not to do it when she saw him glancing back.   
After the seventh time, Fay's mother caught sight of it, and she opened her mouth to tell her daughter to leave Remus alone. Remus put his teacup down just in time and began talking himself.   
"Well," he said. "What's it all about? Why did you ask us to meet you here?" Mrs Mills closed her mouth and turned towards Sabina, clearly as interested as Remus and her husband. Fay didn't seem to care either way; she was fidgeting with her straw.   
Sabina put her cup down too. "Ah, yes," she said, a bit nervously. "Of course. Uhm." She looked at Ruth for support, who obediently spoke.  
"We had this idea," she began. "It's just a theory of course…" She gestured apologetically. "To cure Lycantropy." She fell silent.  
"Well, what's the theory?" Remus wanted to know. This hesitant talking got on his nerves.   
"It's basically this," Sabina said matter-of-factly. "We had heard lycantropes describe their monthly change as sort of a battle, that the wolf inside was struggling to come out."   
_She's read_ Hairy Snout, Human Heart, Remus thought. He had a very worn copy himself, it was like a bible to every werewolf.   
"So, we thought," Sabina continued, "that, maybe, if, uhm, you learned to… not fight it anymore, it would get… easier, and maybe the wolf would eventually… give up."   
Mr and Mrs Mills were nodding, but Remus couldn't remember having heard something this stupid and out of this world in a long time.   
"Stop fighting it?" he asked incredulously. Sabina smiled.  
"Think of it as sumo-wrestling," she said. "One of the easiest and most clever strategies is to step out of the opponents way at the right time. The opponent doesn't have any resistance and will fall to the ground."   
Remus stared. His first impulse was to slap his forehead, slap her forehead and then walk out, back home. Civility and a feeling of sorry prevented him, however. They meant well, after all. And perhaps they didn't know any better…   
"Look," he said. "Sorry to say it, but this is quite insane. There is nothing to fight. You make it sound as if there's a real-life wolf in here –" he tapped on his head "– just waiting to get out, but there isn't! That wolf is a part of me, it _is _me. And besides, you can't sumo-wrestle a werewolf!" The mere thought made him laugh. "You can't just step out of the way!"   
Everybody was staring at him now, including the other people in the tea-room, even Fay, who had forgotten about her straw. Remus didn't care, he wanted to make his point clear. It didn't seem to work though.   
"Okay, maybe the sumo-comparison was wrong," Sabina said. "The idea was more about meditation and relaxation. We hoped that, if you learned how to relax your muscles, it would get easier."   
Remus sighed inaudibly. "I don't want to be rude," he said, "but is this the first time you're talking to a werewolf?"   
"Yes," Sabina admitted. Remus cursed inwardly. They really had no idea what they were talking about. He wondered what he was still doing there. Then he caught sight of the expression on Fay's parent's faces.   
They were looking with an anxious, hopeful expression at the two of them, at Remus and Sabina, listening closely to every word. And Remus was suddenly and painfully remembered of his own parents, thirty years ago, who would have the same expression, the same renewed hope every time a new 'cure' was offered. And every time that hope would be shattered when he Changed after all, despite the herbal essences, despite the charms, despite the potions. He sighed. _This is sheer emotional blackmailing_, he thought.   
"Sorry," he said. "It's just… I don't really think it'll work. But if you want me to, I´ll give it a try. It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment anyway." He smiled, and the others sighed, relieved. Mr Mills even allowed himself a soft chuckle.   
"Okay," Remus said. "Let's hear how this sumo-wrestling is done, then we'll give it a go."   
~*~  
That evening, Remus made a fire in the hearth and sat down in front of it. The instructions he had got were fairly simple: empty your mind and relax. _Easy. Just think of nothing_, he had thought.   
But of course, when you're told you're not allowed to think about a pink elephant, the only think you can think of is a big pink elephant. The same happened to Remus. He kept telling himself he shouldn't think of anything, but the more he told himself that, the more his mind seemed to work in overdrive, eventually thinking two thoughts at the time (_don't think anything – that was a thought – I mustn't think of anything!_).   
He got to his feet again and sighed, frustrated. This wasn't working. He walked upstairs, to his study, and took a quill and paper. He might as well write a letter to Sirius, so that he would do something useful. He stopped by his kitchen to pick up something to eat and returned to the fire. Monster had appeared as well, demanding his share of the chocolate-covered biscuits.   
His letter to Sirius was long and disjointed, but he didn't think Sirius would mind. It was stream-of-conscious writing, rambling on from subject to subject. He was pouring his heart out, and he only stopped when he couldn't write anymore because his hand was too cramped. He stared into the fire and wondered, not for the first time, what Sirius was doing right now. Tomorrow he would meet Harry again for the first time since last summer, when Sirius escaped.   
Remus sighed. How he wished now that he had a Timeturner and could go back in time, to change something, to take the Map with him, to not forget about the Wolfsbane Potion, to tie Peter to someone else but him… but it was no use crying over spilt milk (what a strange expression that always was!). It was done, Sirius was saved by Harry and on the run now.   
Remus dreamed away, thinking of another world, a 'what if'-world, in which there was no Voldemort. His hands, which he had clenched when he thought about Peter, now relaxed and opened. He stared at the flickering flames, completely lost in thoughts, thinking of nothing in particular.  
Then a wave seemed to ripple through him, and the Wolf stirred.   
It took him completely by surprise. It really felt like a wave, or like taking a really deep breath, starting at his feet and swelling up towards his head. Goosebumps covered his skin, and he breathed shallowly, feeling shocked. Was this supposed to happen? he thought. He was under the impression that the idea was that the Wolf inside would get weaker, not the other way around. This felt bad. Really bad. He waited for it to happen again, but the Wolf seemed satisfied, and didn't move again, completely calm again.  
Remus, on the other hand, needed most of the rest of the evening to recover.   
~*~  
"Harry´ll visit us today," Sirius told Buckbeak for the umpteenth time. "You know Harry, don't you? He helped you last summer. He's gonna bring his friends as well, so be nice to them."   
Buckbeak huffed indignantly. This wasn't the first time Sirius had told him this, and the animal had got tired of it by now.   
Sirius rummaged around in his cave, trying to clean, although that was barely possible. He put his plastic bags on his bed and covered them with his blanket, then he threw out all the remnants of food that were still there (which was next to nothing). Then he walked outside to see if it was late enough to get down to Hogsmeade. He decided it was, changed into Padfoot and trotted towards the wizard village.   
The clock at the post office said it was only twelve o'clock, and hour and a half too early. Padfoot sighed and wandered of to get new newspapers. At one o'clock he couldn't stretch it anymore, and he walked back towards the stile at the end of the lane at the edge of the village. He sat down and waited.   
He waited impatiently until, finally, three children (_no, teenagers, not children anymore_) appeared at the end of the lane. He got up and wagged his tail.  
"Hello, Sirius," said Harry when they had reached him.  
The scents coming from the boy's bag filled Padfoot´s nose, and he sniffed it eagerly, then wagged his tail again as a greeting. Then he turned around and walked away, leading the way towards his cave. The trio followed.  
Having had some experience with Remus last Christmas, Padfoot walked not as fast as he used to, but nevertheless Harry and his friends were out of breath when they'd come halfway up the mountain. Ever so often, Padfoot looked back to see if they were all coming.   
After half an hour, they finally reached the cave, and he slipped through the fissure in the rock that was his door. Padfoot immediately changed back into Sirius, and he watched Harry and his friends squeeze through the fissure. They bowed for Buckbeak, who, luckily, bowed back. The brown-haired girl (_Hermione?_) started to pat the Hippogriff´s neck, but Harry turned towards Sirius.  
Sirius realised that his Godson had grown, if only a few inches. Last summer he had only reached to Sirius' shoulder, now his head reached just to Sirius' ears. It wasn't a big difference, but it was slightly taller nonetheless. Then the scents from Harry's bag distracted him once more.  
"Chicken!" he said hoarsely after removing the old _Daily Prophets_ from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor.   
Harry gave a small smile and opened his bag, handing Sirius the food. Sirius tore the neat packages open and revealed chicken, bread and a flask with something to drink.  
"Thanks," he said, sat down on the floor with a drumstick and tore the meat off. "I've been living off rats mostly," he explained. "Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He grinned up at Harry, but Harry smiled only weakly back.  
"What're you doing here, Sirius?" he said.  
"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," said Sirius. _Although James probably hadn't thought 'staying in a draughty cave' one of those duties when he appointed me Godfather!_ He tore more meat off the bone, barely taking time to swallow. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a loveable stray." He smiled up at Harry, but the boy looked back with an anxious expression. Sirius' smile faded, and he said, seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter . . . well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out –" he nodded at the newspapers "– and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."  
Harry's red-haired friend picked up a _Daily Prophet_, but Harry wasn't so easily distracted.  
"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"  
"You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," said Sirius, shrugging carelessly. He had nearly finished the drumstick, and he was gnawing the bone to get the last bits of meat off. Harry's friend (_Ron?_) nudged Harry and passed him the _Daily Prophet_s. Both had Bartemius Crouch Sr and his mysterious illness in their headlines.  
"They're making it sound like he's dying," said Harry slowly, his eyes still on the newspaper. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here. . . ."  
"My brothers Crouch's personal assistant," Ron told Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."  
Sirius threw a bone towards Buckbeak but said nothing.  
"Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close," said Harry, still reading the story. "The night my name came out of the goblet. ..."  
"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" said Hermione, speaking for the first time. She was still patting Buckbeak. The animal had begun crunching the bones Sirius had given him, and he didn't seem to notice the girl. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him."  
"Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs," Ron muttered darkly to Sirius, glaring at Hermione. He seemed merely annoyed by this subject. Sirius, on the other hand, was interested. This was something he hadn't heard before.   
"Crouch sacked his house-elf?" he asked.  
"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry, and he explained shortly what had happened at the Quidditch World Cup. By the end of his story, Sirius was on his feet again, pacing the small cave.  
"Let me get this straight," he said after a while, remembering just in time that a drumstick isn't the best thing to scratch your nose with, and biting a bit off instead. "You first saw the elfin the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"  
"Right," said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together.  
"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?" Sirius asked.  
"No," said Harry. "I think he said he'd been too busy." He watched his Godfather pace from left to right. Sirius made a silent circle, trying to make sense of this. He was fairly sure the House-elf hadn't stolen that wand or made that Dark Mark, it wasn't something he could imagine an Elf doing. He stopped, chewing his food slowly, then he said: "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"  
"Erm… no," he said. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stared at Sirius. "Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"  
"It's possible," said Sirius. _It's not impossible._  
"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted.   
"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," said Sirius, continuing his pacing again. "Who else was sitting behind you?"  
"Loads of people," said Harry, brow furrowed when he tried to remember. "Some Bulgarian ministers… Cornelius Fudge... the Malfoys..."  
"The Malfoys!" said Ron suddenly. He said it so excitedly that his voice echoed all around the cave. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"   
Sirius gave the boy a sharp look. Although the thought wasn't that off, it wasn't likely that Lucius would be so stupid as to conjure up a Dark Mark when there were so many people around, even if it was with a stolen wand. Sirius knew the man better than to think that.  
"Anyone else?" he said.  
"No one," said Harry.  
"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione said, as if it had been an after-thought.  
"Oh yeah…" Harry and Ron said.  
"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," said Sirius, still pacing. "What's he like?"  
"He's okay," Harry shrugged. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."  
"Does he, now?" said Sirius, stopping his pacing and looking at Harry. "I wonder why he'd do that?"  
"Says he's taken a liking to me," said Harry, still not really interested.  
"Hmm," said Sirius. _Fishy._  
"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry and Ron.  
"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" Ron retorted. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."  
"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"  
"Come off it," said Ron incredulously, sighing. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"  
"It's more likely he did it than Winky," said Hermione stubbornly. She crossed her arms, glaring.  
"Told you," said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius and rolling his eyes, "told you she's obsessed with house –"  
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.  
"When the Dark Mark had been conjured," he asked, "and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"  
"Went to look in the bushes," said Harry, "but there wasn't anyone else there."  
"Of course," Sirius muttered. He began pacing again. It started to make more sense. "Of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf... and then he sacked her?"  
"Yes," said Hermione furiously, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled –"  
"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" Ron snapped.  
But Sirius shook his head. He said: "she's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." It was something he learned the hard way in his youth, with his family. He ran a hand over his face, scratching his ratty beard, racking his brain.  
"All these absences of Barty Crouch's..." he said. "He goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too… It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak." _Not bloody likely._  
"D'you know Crouch, then?" said Harry, amazed.  
Sirius scowled. This was not a subject he liked to discuss, but he knew he had to.  
"Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly, anger boiling inside. "He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."  
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.  
"You're kidding!" said Harry.  
"No, I'm not," said Sirius. Wish I was! He picked up another drumstick and tore another bite off. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"  
The trio shook their heads.  
"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius told them. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry." Harry flinched, and Sirius knew what the boy was thinking. "Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side… well, you wouldn't understand… you're too young…"  
"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," said Ron, sounding angered. "Try us, why don't you?"  
A fighter. Sirius grinned. He liked that.  
"All right, I'll try you…" he said. He did another round through the cave, then he said: "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing... the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere… panic… confusion… that's how it used to be." Hermione was looking wide-eyed at him.   
"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others," Sirius went on, gesturing with his half-eaten drumstick. "Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemorts supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects." He scowled. "I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. ..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."  
"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.  
"Yep," said Sirius lightly. He threw his chicken bone to Buckbeak who neatly caught it, then he flung himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tore it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine," he said conversationally. "Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while… gotten to know his own son." He started stuffing pieces of bread in his mouth.  
"Was his son a Death Eater?" Harry wanted to know.  
"No idea," said Sirius. He shrugged and put more bread in his mouth. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out." _Thanks to Remus and Dumbledore. _"The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."   
"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.   
"Ha!" Sirius laughed, a barking laugh that started Hermione.   
"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again – doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban."  
"He gave his own son to the dementors?" asked Harry quietly, taken aback.   
"That's right," said Sirius grimly, not at all amused now. "I saw the Dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..." The memory chilled something inside Sirius' body. He had done the same.   
"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry said finally.  
"No," said Sirius dully, tearing more bread off. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."  
"He died?"  
"He wasn't the only one," said Sirius bitterly, snorting. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his sons body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it." He could well remember the tall figures, the coffin that was unceremoniously dropped in the hole in the ground, the earth that was shoved over it. It had been done in less than half an hour.  
Sirius had picked up another piece of bread, but he had no taste for it with the foul taste the memory left in his mouth. Instead, he picked up the flask and uncorked it, gulping the pumpkin juice down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then continued his story.  
"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he said. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic…next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-operation."  
The fell a silence. Sirius could see the trio was impressed and shocked by this story. He picked up the bread again and started eating. While they were thinking this over, he might as well fill his stomach.  
"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry finally broke the silence.  
"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," said Sirius, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."  
"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" said Ron, his face brightening up, as if he had finally found the last piece of a puzzle.  
"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," said Sirius.  
"Yeah, it does!" said Ron excitedly. Sirius, however, shook his head. It really didn't.  
"Listen," he said. "If Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."  
"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" asked Harry. Hermione, however, cut in before Sirius could answer.  
"Look, I don't care what you say," she said hotly. "Dumbledore trusts Snape –"  
"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron exasperatedly. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him –"  
"Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then?" Hermione snapped back. "Why didn't he just let him die?"  
"I dunno – maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out –"  
"What d'you think, Sirius?" Harry said loudly, interrupting the quarrel. Ron and Hermione stopped bickering, interested in Sirius' answer.  
"I think they've both got a point," said Sirius. He sat on the floor, looking pensively at the two. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," he scowled. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, grinning. Apparently they had no objection to hearing their professor described like this. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters." He began ticking off names, mentally seeing the faces while he said the names. "Rosier and Wilkes – they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges – they're a married couple – they're in Azkaban. Avery – from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse – he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater – not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble." _Yuck, did I just make Snape a compliment?_  
"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," said Ron.  
"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" Harry added quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was."  
He showed Snape something on his arm?" said Sirius, puzzled. He had no idea what this could be. He ran his fingers through his long, tangled hair and pulled a face because it was so filthy. Then he shrugged. "Well, I've no idea what that's about... but if Karkaroff s genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers..." He stared at the wall, lost in thought, chewing his lower lip, then he pulled a face in frustration because it didn't make sense. "There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."  
"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?" said Ron, still not willing to believe that Snape could do something good.  
"Well," said Sirius slowly, carefully, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defence Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though... he's a different matter... is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not... what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?" He fell silent again, still looking at the wall of the cave as if it held any clues. He vaguely heard Buckbeak scratch the floor, looking for any bones he had missed. Then Sirius suddenly realised what Ron had said – his brother was Crouch's assistant. He looked at the redhead.  
"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"  
"I can try," said Ron, but he looked doubtful. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."  
"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," Sirius added, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.  
"Bagman told me they hadn't," said Harry.  
"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," said Sirius, nodding at the paper on the floor. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip." He scowled inwardly – sometimes it had been a bit too good for her own good, especially if it involved something Sirius or the Marauders had wanted to keep quiet. "It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic... maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long..." It was what he would do anyway. He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly felt tired. "What's the time?"  
Harry checked his watch but Hermione answered.   
"It's half past three."  
"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He made a point of looking at Harry, because he especially needed to listen and do what Sirius wanted him to do. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."  
"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of Grindylows," Harry said defiantly. Sirius scowled at him, not in the least reassured.  
"I don't care..." he said sharply. "I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?" It was a more common name than Padfoot, and hopefully less conspicuous.   
He wiped his mouth once more and handed the napkin and flask to Harry, then he went over to Buckbeak to pat the animal good-bye and to tell him he was to stay in the cave until Sirius got back.   
"I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," he told the trio, "see if I can scrounge another paper." He changed back into Padfoot and they left the cave, walking down again towards Hogsmeade. Harry, Ron and Hermione all patted Padfoot on the head before they made their way back to Hogwarts.   
Padfoot didn't wait around to see them leave. Instead, he walked into Hogsmeade, ready for some more trashcan-raiding.   
_* * * * *   
Paddy? well, would you rather be named Siry? I know that I´d rather be Remus than Remy… If all the names in the world would end on –y we would get Alby Dumbledory, Minervy McGonagally, Severy Snapy, Hagry, Jamy Potty, and everybody would get the feeling of being stuck in a bad children's book! Not to mention the fact that James and Harry would rather die than have 'Potty' as their last name!  
Something completely different: I've been thinking. This really won't do. We need to meet again, I can't say everything I want in a letter, first of all my hand gets cramped and secondly there's stuff we need to talk about without the chance of other people finding out.   
Do send word back when I can come over to Hogsmeade.  
Moony._


	13. A potion for Fay

Well, next installment. I feel very much inclined to just killing off Sabina and Ruth and be done with it all, but I've calculated that I need about seven or eight more chapters to end this coming summer, before the movie of PoA, so I can't kill them - yet. Besides, it's a bit mean, don't you think, to kill off people if you don't know what else to do with them, no?  
Quote's from X-men 2 (with Sir Ian McKellen, yay!). I realised yesterday that it didn't have anything to do with the story, but then I couldn't be bothered finding another one.  
Here we go!  
  
**End of March, 1995.**  
_"Have you tried… not being a mutant?"   
* * * * *  
You're right about the names ending on –y. 'Blacky'. I'd sound like a horse. Yuck. Bad idea.  
You're also right about the fact that we should meet (I do agree quite a lot with you in this letter!).There are loads of questions I have to ask you but can't ask in a letter. Come over to Hogsmeade whenever you can. I have nothing better to do, so you can come whenever suits you best.  
Send a reply as soon as possible.  
Padfoot._  
* * * * *   
"Yes, yes, here it is, don't be impatient." Remus set the plate with left-overs in front of Monster, who immediately tucked in (as far as 'tucking in' is possible for an animal the size of a tennis ball). He then sat himself down at his kitchen table and opened Sirius' newest letter – he hadn't had time to read it yet.   
The message was short and pretty straight-forward. Replying was a little more difficult, however. It wasn't a matter of not having time, it was more a matter of choosing the right time. Coming week would be impossible, because it was going to be a full moon in a week. He finally settled for the Wednesday in two weeks.   
When he tied the letter to the paw of the owl Sirius had used, he accidentally scratched it with his nails. The owl hooted indignantly and tried to peck him.  
"Sorry," he said. "I know they're long, I can't help it." The owl huffed, glared at him with round, yellow eyes, spread its wings and took off through the window.   
Remus got to his feet, putting his hand on the table to push himself up. His nails ticked audibly on the table. It was true, they _were_ too long. When he heard the ticking, he clenched his fist in irritation but let go when he felt the sharp sting of his nails. He sighed and went into the living room, to find a pair of nail scissors, to cut his nails once more.  
It was one of the side-effects of the relaxation excersises he did. Even though he had never experienced one of those sudden 'ripples' again, the wolf in him had apparently understood that the defences were – partially – down, and that became clear in Remus' physical appearance. Especially with the full moon only a few days away, he sometimes looked as if he was in the first stage of Changing when he came out of bed at morning. He was lucky that it were only the relatively minor symptoms he was suffering, it wasn't as if his teeth had grown to an uncomfortable length, or that his bones had started breaking. But he did grow an almost full beard in one day, he had began shaving the bridge of his nose again, and his nails grew long, sharp and red.   
He found his nail scissors and began cutting, throwing the small half-moons of nail in the waste bin. He'd almost wonder what use it was, they'd probably have grown back by tomorrow, but he had another meeting with the 'nature-group' again, and he might as well keep up appearances if he was going outside and meet other people. Least he'd attract attention, the least he'd be stared at or even avoided.   
  
It was an idle hope, however. Despite shaving his face and the bridge of his nose and despite wearing a shirt with long sleeves, there was no concealing that his hands had got considerably hairier as well, not to mention the fact that his nails looked as if he was wearing nail-polish. No wonder the waitress stared at him when she handed him his plate.   
They had made a habit out of meeting in restaurants or little bars. Remus had this sneaky feeling that the others did it out of… friendliness, to give him a free meal. Even though it looked oddly much like charity, something he'd sworn never to accept, he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he swallowed his pride along with the food. Had he been forced to stand in line waiting for bad food from a soup kitchen it would have been a whole different matter.   
And so he accepted the plate that was handed him with a curt nod, ignoring the look on the waitress's face. She quickly handed the other plates round and left, casting one final look over her shoulder. It wasn't until she was well away that Fay raised her head again.   
The sight of her face had been a shock to Remus, even to him. He had got quite used to his own appearance, but it had been rather unnerving when he saw her again. Apart from the fact that her eyes had a lot more yellow and her nails were red as well, her face was covered with a soft pale-blond fur, the same colour as her hair. Her hands were covered with fur as well, and it looked as if she was wearing gloves. A very strange kind of gloves.   
Her parents acted uncomfortable, most likely because this was an unexpected happening. They tried to behave normally but Remus couldn't help but notice a certain stiffness when they were talking to him. Fay's unusual shyness towards him seemed influenced by this, and at first she'd not dared to raise her head to look up, in fear that people would stare and laugh.   
Remus, on the other hand, was of the opinion that if something couldn't be helped, you might as well laugh at it, and the first thing he'd asked her was if she had forgotten to shave this morning. She had glanced up shyly through her hair, to see if he was serious, and a broad smile had appeared on her face when she saw he was only joking. She remained reluctant to show her face to others, however.   
They wished each other a "bon appetite" and tucked in. For several minutes, all that could be heard was the tinkling of cutlery and the talking of the other people in the restaurant. Remus stayed focussed on his plate – if the others wanted to talk, he'd talk, if not; no problem, but he wasn't going to start a conversation.   
It wasn't until they'd finished desert that Sabina finally wiped her mouth with her napkin and scraped her throat. Remus looked up, but she immediately avoided his eyes and then looked back, pretending not to have done it.   
Mr and Mrs Mills might have been shocked by the sudden change in their daughter, Sabina and Ruth had been even more shocked. This was after all the first time they'd met a werewolf, and looking at one who seemed stuck in the first stage of Changing for a few hours was rather unnerving. Especially Fay, who appeared double unnatural – at least they were used to men having facial hair (but maybe not if they looked like their razor broke a couple of days ago and they hadn't had time to buy a new one).   
"Uhm, okay, how are things going?" she asked nervously.  
Remus really had to fight a sarcastic comment back. Only by constantly telling himself that they really didn't know any better, he kept himself from sneering that 'obviously, things couldn't be better' and that he'd always wanted to look like a cross between the Wolf Man and a vagabond with nail polish. He resisted the urge, however, and instead just said, albeit rather shortly, that so far it didn't look too good.   
"Well, it's a somewhat… it's only theoretical, I mean…" Ruth stuttered quietly. "I'm sure things will get better, eventually. It's just… you probably have to get used to it."   
Remus looked sceptical. Fay's parents, on the other hand, were hopefully absorbing (that was exactly the right word for it) ever word. It was painful to watch, especially since Remus knew very well that the chances of him and Fay actually getting cured were very slim.   
He wasn't really sure why he walked up with them afterwards. It just so happened that the train station and their parked car were on the same route.   
Fay had put the hood of her coat up and her hands tucked in her pockets. Remus was inclined to do the same when he saw a woman looking foully at him and actually stepping aside when he passed her, but he decided to hold his head high. It was easier said than done though. People continued to look at him as if he was something dirty. He started wishing his clothes weren't so tattered.   
"Mum?" came Fay's soft voice. "Hey, mum?"   
"What is it, dear?" her mother asked, kinder than Remus had seen her this day.   
"Do I have to go back to school now?" Fay wanted to know.   
"Well, not just yet," Mrs Mills said carefully. "Maybe next week. We'll see what happens then." _When the full moon has passed _– though she didn't say that, Remus understood it nonetheless.   
"You got free from school?" he asked, pulling her hood further over her face. "What for? You're not ill, are you?"   
Fay gave him an impressive glare and didn't lower herself to answer. That was answer enough.  
"Sorry," he said. "Bad joke. But I bet the Wolfsbane Potion will make me ill. _Disgusting_ stuff, don't you think? At least it keeps me from wrecking my house, that's the only good point."   
It was really unbelievable. Remus had expected everything except three amazed looks that clearly showed a lack of understanding. _Oh Merlin, they have to be kidding_, he thought. Then Mr Mills voiced exactly that what he was afraid of.  
"What potion?"   
Remus could just keep his jaw from dropping and his hand from slapping his forehead. Instead, he asked: "what did they tell you at the Werewolf Registry, exactly?"   
"Nothing, apparently," Mrs Mills said. Her voice had an urgent tone to it. "What potion?"   
"I can't believe they didn't tell you," Remus sighed. "That's just – there is no word for it. Let's sit down a minute, there's rather much you need to know." He gestured to the small park nearby. The three adults sat themselves down on a bench while Fay, the hood still drawn as far over her head as possible, leaned against the back rest, eyes fixed on Remus, drinking in every word.  
  
He began with a short, quick recap of the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion. Having been, at one stage, directly involved in the process, he knew a lot first-hand, so he could give a detailed account. He mentioned the advantages of course – the main one being that Fay wouldn't attempt to eat her parents anymore – but made a point of stressing the disadvantages: the foul taste of the potion, the fact that drinking too much could poison her, and the fact that she would remain her human consciousness throughout everything – including the immensely painful transformation. Remus wanted them to be completely aware of what they were offered. It would be all the more bitter if they were expecting some kind of wonder potion and only got more pain. Because that was what the Wolfsbane Potion gave as well, besides control over the Wolf: it made the Transformation more painful because the person drinking it was more aware of it, the Wolf didn't block him out half-way through. But for Remus, the advantages had outweighed the disadvantages. He hoped that Fay's parents would choose the right option and not the safest one.   
After his story, the three others were silent for a few moments, lost in thoughts. The wind suddenly rustling through the trees made Fay look up and she smiled when she saw a group of birds take flight from the branch they had been sitting up. With her yellow eyes and soft white fur she seemed almost cat-like, were it not for the white wolfish teeth she bared when she smiled.   
"What do you think?" Remus asked her. He started her, and she quickly drew her head back in her hood. She smiled shyly but didn't give an answer.   
"Where can we get this potion?" Mr Mills asked instead.  
"That seems to be a bit of a problem," Remus answered. "I would've thought that the Registry would inform you of these things, and I can't imagine why they didn't."   
"But you have it," Mrs Mills said. "Where do you get it then?"   
Remus smiled, albeit a bit wryly. "I have connections, apparently. The Potions Master of Hogwarts, Snape, makes it for me and sends it to me every month. The Potion appears to be rather difficult, and potion-brewing has never been my strongest point."  
"Will he make it for me as well?" Fay asked the question her parents wanted to know.   
"Probably, if I ask him really nicely," Remus told her. _And give my head on a platter and grovel a bit and all that_, he added mentally. But it was worth a try – and else he could always childishly go to Dumbledore and tell on Snape. _Yuck, how old am I? Five? _  
"But only if you really want me to," he added, turning to her parents. "I can't remind you enough of the disadvantages. This potion has in fact only one good thing – and for me it rules out all the bad things. But I want you to be absolutely certain of it."   
Mr and Mrs Mills seemed to do that silent talking-thing Remus' own parents were so good at and which he never seemed to have got the hang of. _But maybe you need to be married to be able to do it. _  
Mrs Mills eventually nodded. "Yes," she said. "We'll do it."  
  
When he got home, Remus immediately took out a quill and a piece of parchment. He would get the Wolfsbane Potion the next day, and it took an owl a few hours to get up to Scotland and back. He had no time to waste.   
He hastily wrote a few words down, explaining the situation and describing Fay (he had this feeling that a ten year old girl wouldn't need the same dose of Wolfsbane as a thirty-five year old man), then he folded the parchment double and sealed it, not bothering himself with looking for an envelope. It wasn't the first time he wished Hogwarts had a telephone connection. Of course, he could use Floo Powder to talk to Snape through the fire, but he hated that way of talking and he didn't want to have to look up at Snape either.   
He walked outside, to the garden shed, where his owl was dozing, waiting for the night to come. The small bird had been a birthday gift from his parents, and it wasn't until he had got it that he realised how useful an owl was. He woke the bird up and tied the letter to its paw. The owl blinked sleepily and hooted but didn't object. Remus walked into the garden again and the bird set off, soaring soundlessly into the sky and out of sight. Remus himself walked inside again. All he could do now was sit and wait for an answer.  
It arrived the next day. The envelope was ticker than he would have expected. He ripped the seal open and took out the letter.  
_Lupin_, it said in the expected black scrawl.  
_What do I look like, a blood Wolfsbane factory? Perhaps it hasn't occurred to you that I might have other, more important things to do than jump to your wishes and make potions for every random person you encounter? Stop bothering me.  
S. Snape._  
Enclosed in the envelope was a folded piece of parchment with the recipe for the Wolfsbane Potion and a description of the doses and the way it should be taken, and tied to it were two flasks instead of the usual one…  
~*~  
Sirius would never have guessed that one day he would look more forward to a letter from Harry than one from Remus. Not because Harry's letters were more exciting, far from that actually, but because the boy had taken to sending regular packages of food. And being able to simply take it from the table or even from the Hogwarts kitchen, those packages were bigger than the ones Remus used to send.   
Sirius sat on a rock outside his cave, bathing in the warm sun. Chances of people seeing him were very small, so he could relax and close his eyes. He had seen the insides of his cave way too much, and he was happy that the weather had started to improve so that he could get out more often. Buckbeak seemed to like it as well – at least the two of them weren't confined to each other's company anymore.   
He opened his eyes again just in time to see an owl soaring towards him. He jumped to his feet, excitedly, but immediately sunk down again when he saw that the animal was only carrying a letter and no package.   
The bird dropped the letter in front of him and landed on a nearby rock, hooting softly. This alone was enough to tell Sirius that the letter was from Dumbledore – the Headmaster always wanted an immediate reply. Sirius sighed, picked up the letter and broke the seal.   
The letter was short and matter-of-factly. Nothing really interesting had happened, as far as Dumbledore knew everything was fine with Harry, and concerning the wand Sirius had asked for: he had talked to Mr Olivander about it, but the matter seemed more complicated than one would think. There was this tricky thing that the Ministry had every wand registered, and people would start asking questions if Olivander sold a wand to a person named Sirius Black – after all, there weren't that many people named that.   
Sirius turned the parchment around and wrote a short message on the back of the sheet. He told Dumbledore that his need for a wand wasn't thát dire, and that he shouldn't trouble himself if there were more important things. It was just that it would come in handy. He didn't ask any questions, he figured that he would pester Remus with them when he came, next week.   
The owl took off not even a second after Sirius had tied the final not in the leather thong attaching the letter to the animal's paw. It soared away, leaving him alone again.  
* * * * *   
_Horse? I like horses. Pity they don't like me.   
Meeting sounds excellent (wait a minute, it was my idea! Of course it sounds excellent to me!). Due to a date with Lady Luna I won't have time coming week, but the week after that seems perfect. I'll be in Hogsmeade's main street on Wednesday, around __twelve o'clock__, waiting for you. I'll see you then, I hope.  
Moony._


	14. Mr Moony visits Mr Padfoot

Here's the newest chapter, with great news: the plot's back on track (*gasp* there was a PLOT??), whoopee! It didn't really turn out like I'd planned it about a year ago, but who cares? Speaking of planning: last friday I planned out the six chapters to come (Ancient Christendom bored me...). It made me actually quite sad to see it written down in my notebook: "WW 20 - The second war begins" and "June 16, WW21 - Fun Chapter?"... The last chapter of Wanderings! Then I'll take my much-deserved summerstop, to gather ideas for the sequel... Yes, there'll be one!   
As for this chapter... it got longer than I thought it would turn out, AND it has lots of Sirius&Remus babbling, so I guess you'll be happy. :) Enjoy.  
Oh, wait! About the quote: it's quite a strange situation we have before us. This is the first time I've used a quote that's already been said in the fict... It probably won't be the last time either... :)  
Enjoy!****

**April 1995.**

"This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out."

_* * * * * _

_Will be there. See you then._

_Padfoot._

_* * * * * _

"Now, it's just Remus who's coming over today," Sirius told Buckbeak, meanwhile brushing the horse-part of the animal with a make-shift brush. "He's not dangerous and he's not going to eat you, so I don't want any funny business like you did at Christmas, okay?" 

Buckbeak had his eyes closed and was deeply enjoying the firm brushing. He didn't appear to have heard Sirius. 

"Hm?" Sirius asked. He poked the animal in the ribs. "Okay?" Buckbeak snorted, insulted, but didn't really seem to object. "Good." Sirius started brushing again. "Hippogriffs," he sighed. 

Buckbeak pretended to try and peck Sirius, who jumped out of the way, laughing. 

"Hey, as far as the pecking-order is concerned here, I'm above you, okay?" He tapped Buckbeak playfully on the beak. Buckbeak let out a shriek that echoed against the wall, and he reflexively spread his wings, nearly knocking Sirius off his feet. A short mock-fight followed, which was won by Sirius who was able to quickly slip under Buckbeak to the animal's other side and prod him there. Buckbeak glared but Sirius just laughed, gasping for breath after all the excitement. He hadn't felt so happy in weeks. He scrambled to his feet again. 

"So, now that's been settled – " Buckbeak huffed but didn't object " – I'll go down to Hogsmeade and come back with Remus. You stay here and be a nice Hippogriff, okay?" 

_I'm using that word too much_, Sirius thought. Buckbeak stared at him with unblinking eyes, and he took the liberty of taking that as "sure". He changed into Padfoot, slipped out of the cave and started walking down the path towards Hogsmeade. 

~*~

Strange, how a village can change in just a few months. 

Hogsmeade was the complete opposite of what Remus had walked into last Christmas. Instead of snowy white, the main colour was now green. It was warm, and there was a strong scent in the air Remus could only define as 'spring'. It was the best thing he'd ever smelled, and it brought a spring to his step. 

Walking lightly was easy because this time he didn't have two heavy bags to carry. Sirius had told him that he had a steady supply of food now, so he didn't have to bring anything along. Remus hadn't liked the prospect of eating the scarce amount Sirius had (even though the supply was apparently steady), so he carried a rucksack with a bottle of water, his tin with tealeaves, two cups and a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Drinking tea was an old English tradition, he had reasoned. One couldn't pay someone a visit without drinking a cup of the warm liquid. 

He walked down Main Street, keeping an eye out for a big black dog. He finally saw his friend sitting at the end of the road again, under the battered old photo of himself staring meanly at the passers-by. Padfoot had seen Remus as well, and he got to his paws, wagging his tail. Remus smiled and started to make his way to the shaggy dog, but before he had set even two paces, someone tapped him on his shoulder and called his name. He turned around. 

Professor Vector was beaming up at him. It was fairly obvious what she was doing here; she was holding a rather large square package, wrapped in brown paper and with the Hogsmeade Post Office's address on it. Apparently she had been picking up books she'd ordered. 

"Remus!" she said. "What a surprise! What are you doing here?" 

He smiled. "A surprise indeed, but a pleasant one," he said, genuinely pleased. "I'm here to… visit an old friend of mine." _Well, it's true_. 

"So you don't have time to have a drink?" she asked.

"Alas, no," he replied, giving a comical sigh. 

"You know, we all miss you terribly," she suddenly said. She heaved the package a little higher on her hip and squinted her eyes against the sun. "Especially Fillius. Now he doesn't have someone Gryffindor-Ravenclaw rivalry with. Minerva's too serious for that." 

He laughed, albeit a bit sadly. "And I suppose Dumbledore doesn't want to take sides?" 

She laughed as well. 

"He's always on everybody's side at the same time, so it gets terribly confusing," she said. 

"I can imagine that," Remus grinned. 

She smiled, heaving the package up once more. "Well, I have to go. I have a class to teach in half an hour." 

"Make me jealous, why don't you?" he said, making her laugh again. 

"Do come and visit us sometimes," she said.

"Will do." 

Having both hands occupied with holding the package, she nodded goodbye and walked away in the opposite direction Remus would take. He waited until she was out of sight, then walked over to Padfoot. 

The Animagus curiously cocked his head, asking a question without words. 

"That was professor Vector," Remus told him. "Arithmancy teacher, remember? She taught us from the third year up? Well, me at least, you never learned anything…" Padfoot growled. 

"Not really sorry for that," Remus said, grinning wolfishly. "It's the truth. Anyway, I used to sit between her and Flitwick last year, and she wanted to know what I was doing here. Said I was visiting an old friend."   

Padfoot nuzzle went up and down, making an "ooh"- gesture. Then he got to his feet and wagged his tail again.

"Yes, let's get up to your cave," Remus agreed. He climbed over the stile and followed his friend's wagging tail up the mountain, to Sirius' hide-out. 

~*~

The climb was easier than a few months ago because this time the path wasn't half-frozen. Padfoot once again kept his guest in mind and took a more leisurely pace than he would normally have done. It took them just under half an hour to reach the cave. The moment they reached the small clear space before the entrance, Padfoot changed back into Sirius. Remus sunk down on a rock and let his rucksack fall on the ground.

"Don't you think they'll find out you're staying here if you get out in the open like this?" he asked. Sirius shrugged, a broad grin on his face he couldn't fight. 

"No one ever gets up here," he said. "And it's not as if I'm practising my yodelling up here." 

Remus laughed at the image of Sirius belting out a yodel, complete with lederhosen. 

"Well, stay here," Sirius said, gesturing for Remus to stay seated. "I'll get us lunch."  

Remus obediently stayed on his rock while Sirius slipped into his cave. He was amazed at how magnificent this hidingplace was. The cave itself was barely visible from the village, being surrounded by tall trees and fairly high on the mountain. The entrance was a mere slit in the mountain, and you only noticed it standing almost right in front of it. There was a small clearing in front of the cave, a circle with boulders around it, looking as if they were made to sit on. A small opening between the trees made it possible to see Hogsmeade, but it was too far away to see anyone on the mountain if you were standing in the village. The only way to catch Sirius before he saw you was to fly over the mountain from Hogwarts. And doing that meant you'd have to account to Dumbledore what you were doing there. If the small cave had been especially build, it would not have been a better place to hide. 

Sirius crawled out of the cave again, a blanket and several sandwiches in his hands. He had a worried look on his face.

"What's up?" Remus wanted to know, meanwhile taking over the sandwiches so that Sirius could spread out the blanket. 

"Buckbeak's not inside," Sirius said. He frowned. "I told him to stay here. I hope he's only off hunting and not doing something stupid." 

"Uhm, how can Buckbeak actually get out of the cave?" Remus wondered. "That opening is tiny."  

"Oh, there's a bigger entrance on the other side," Sirius said, waving Remus' comment away. "It comes out on the other side of the Forbidden Forest. It's big enough for him to get through. I just hope he hasn't flown off to Hagrid or something; it'd betray both of us." 

"Hmm." Remus sat down again. He couldn't say he was very disappointed that the Hippogriff wasn't there; it made him nervous. "Is Buckbeak still so font of tearing things apart?" 

"Just this morning he tried to peck my hand off," Sirius said airily. Then, when he caught Remus' stare: "don't look at me like that! We were only re-establishing the pecking order! I won of course." 

"Yeah, Merlin knows you know how to do that," Remus said. Sirius threw a sandwich at him. "Hey! No food fight!" The blanket was sprayed with bread and ham. Remus picked up one of the loafs of bread but pulled a face when he saw the sand in the butter. "Look, disgusting. I'm not going to eat that." 

"Give it to me then." Sirius stuck out his hand. 

"What?" 

"I´ll eat it." He snatched the bread from Remus' hand and shook the sand off, carefully put the ham back, folded it double and ate it in three large bites, ostentatiously chewing with his mouth half-open. The disgusting sight of his yellow teeth chewing the white bread made Remus flinch. "See?" Sirius finally asked, swallowing the last bits away. "I've eaten far worse than that, actually." 

"Yech," Remus said. "Disgusting. I can't believe you just did that." 

Sirius shrugged. "After rats, anything is a delicacy." 

"Coming summer, when Harry's back home, you'll come over to me and I'll give you proper food." Remus shook his finger at a bemused Sirius, as if his friend was just a little child. "We need to get you back on your old weight, you look a mess. Your own mother won't even recognise you." 

"Well, that's not surprising – I haven't seen her since I was sixteen," Sirius said, pulling up his shoulders in a defensive way. "Whatever happened to her anyway?" 

"Can I have that sandwich?" Remus asked instead of giving an answer. "That's cheese, right?" Sirius shove the sandwich in his friend's direction. 

"Well?" 

"Uhm, she died. A couple of years ago." Remus shyly bit his sandwich, feeling uncomfortable discussing this. Sirius didn't seem affected, however. 

"Okay." Sirius wolfed another sandwich down, then remembered something. "Oh, Harry send me something to drink as well." 

Remus looked up. "Harry?" 

"Yeah, he's sending me food from Hogwarts," Sirius explained, taking up a flask. "I'm afraid it's nothing stronger than pumpkin juice – I figured it would be a bit… strange, to send him an owl with a note saying 'could you send me some Butterbeer or Firewhiskey because professor Lupin's coming over and we'd like something strong to drink and possibly get drunk'. I mean, not really the right example to set, don't you think so?"

Remus laughed. "Hardly. But pumpkin juice's fine as well."

"'fraid I don't have cups or anything," Sirius said apologetically. 

"I do." Remus took out the cups from his rucksack and Sirius distributed the orange liquid. Then they sat back against the boulders, drinking pumpkin juice and eating the sandwiches. 

"How's Harry?" Remus asked. 

"Still alive," was the sighed answer. "The question is for how long, however…" 

"The second Task was with that lake, right?" 

"Yeah. He wrote me that he found out the way to survive underwater a few minutes before the Task started. Lucky devil." 

"Well, he's always been exceedingly lucky." 

"Yeah, he started when he was only a couple of hours old, when he got me as his Godfather. Pure luck," Sirius joked, avoiding the subject they were both thinking of. 

"And how's his love-life?" Remus asked with a small smile.

"Love-life? Does he have one?" Sirius was genuinely amazed. 

"According to _Witch Weekly _he has." Remus took a copy of the magazine from his rucksack. He had saved it especially for Sirius, just to amuse him. 

"See, I never read that magazine," Sirius said. "And oh Merlin – I can see why Harry didn't send it to me." He leafed to the article and started reading it, a grin on his face. He was laughing out loud when he'd finished it. It was so infectious that Remus was grinning as well. 

"Hermione Granger, isn't that the – " Sirius waved his hands at the sides of his head to mimic bushy hair. "That girl?"   

"Yeah, that's Hermione," Remus nodded. "Best girl of her year. And the previous years. And probably the next years as well." 

"Wasn't she the one who'd figured out you're a werewolf?" Sirius wanted to know. 

"Your memory's too good for your own good, Padfoot," Remus said. 

"Well, she's not as ugly as they say," Sirius said, laying the magazine aside. 

"No, she isn't," Remus agreed. "Once she gets those front teeth straightened out, she'll be quite pretty I suppose." 

"Front teeth?" Sirius frowned. "What about them?" 

"Uhm, they're fairly large." Remus didn't feel comfortable discussing the outward appearance of one of his students, even though it was fairly harmless. 

"Didn't notice anything special about them," Sirius shrugged. 

"Oh well." Remus shrugged as well. "It's a lousy story anyway. Worthy of _The Quibbler_." 

Sirius frowned. "The what now?" 

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know. You've been away too long."

"That's a way to put it. I've been 'away'. Nice euphemism." 

"Anyway," Remus continued, "_The Quibbler_ is a magazine with out-of-this-world stories and theories. They once had this long-winded story about Dumbledore being Father Christmas' brother."

"You know, that actually makes sense. They both have a long beard for starters." 

"Yeah, and they both wear red and they both live in a secluded castle." Remus rolled his eyes. "I'd almost start thinking _you_ wrote that article." 

"Aww, darn Remus, you found out my secret." Sirius devoured the last sandwich. "Got more to eat?" 

"Do your stomach resemble a bottomless pit or something?" Remus fished the chocolate chip cookies from his rucksack. "Here. And don't eat it all, will you?" 

Sirius tore the package open. "I'll try." Remus immediately snatched the bag from his friend's hands.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he said. "I just… don't trust you." He divided the cookies, watched sharply by Sirius. "There. Now you can have them." 

"Still protective when it comes to chocolate?" Sirius asked, picking a bit of chocolate off. 

"Of course." The cookies were just too large to eat in one bite, so Remus bit one in half. Sirius stretched his long legs on the blanket and leaned back, enjoying the sun on his hollow cheeks. There were bluish bags under his eyes, and Remus doubted his friend slept very well. But before he could ask, Sirius spoke. 

"And, how was your date last week?" He opened one eye, which twinkled playfully.

Remus thought about this for a moment. "It… changed me. Literally." 

"Wow. Give me a date like that," Sirius muttered. 

Remus stretched out his legs as well and leaned back against the same rock Sirius was leaning against. "Don't think she's your kind of girl," he said. 

"Why not? You wrote about that… Lova. Seems exactly my kind of girl."

"Indeed," Remus sighed. "A bit too much." 

Sirius raised his head. "A-oh. Should I be insulted?" 

Remus pulled a face. "She had this knack for 'collecting' you had as well."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Nah, don't worry. It's not as if it's your fault anyway."

"Hmm." They were silent for a few moments, each thinking about what could have been but never got the chance to be and other complicating stuff like that. 

"And, what else have you been up to?" Sirius asked finally. 

"Nothing much," Remus shrugged. "I met a few, hum, people who thought they knew a way to cure me, but it didn't work. Quite the opposite – I nearly Changed halfway through the month. Got the fur and all."

"You don't look like it," Sirius commented.

"I got better," Remus grinned. "No, it surprisingly went away when I started drinking the Wolfsbane Potion."

"God, I hate asking this again," Sirius sighed. "Uhm, what's that?"

"A potion that keeps the Wolf in check," Remus explained. "It lets me keep my human mind, so I won't start eating other people or wrecking my house. D'you know there are people who haven't even _heard_ of it?" 

"You mean besides me?" 

"Yeah. Well, I actually mean werewolves who've never heard of it. You see, I met this girl – "  

"Oh dear," Sirius said, winking. 

Remus scowled. "She's _nine_. Anyway, the Wolfsbane Potion's been around longer than she's been a werewolf, and yet she'd never heard of it before I told her about it!" He sat upright, indignation rushing through him. "It's ridiculous! You'd think the Registry would encourage drinking such a useful potion, but no, they don't even tell people about it." 

"Well, it's common knowledge that Umbridge and the Ministry in general isn't really the most werewolf-friendly," Sirius muttered. 

"True. You know what I'd like to do?" Remus asked. "Besides giving Umbridge a nice kick up her… Uhm…" 

"Arse?" Sirius suggested.

"Yeah. Uhm, well, apart from that," Remus continued, "I'd really, _really _like to, you know, kind of reform the entire Registry. It's ridiculous that people keep blundering along like that. It's practically certain that there's no cure, but no one tells the new werewolves that, they have to figure it out for themselves, and besides," he ranted on," isn't it a bit strange that there are only non-werewolves working at the Registry? What do _they_ know about anything?" 

"It's easy then," Sirius cut in. "Just give Umbridge and Fudge a nice kick and reform the whole thing. I'm on your side so that already one supporter."

"There's just this tiny little problem that they probably won't listen," Remus sighed. "They're too blind for that." 

"Then it's your fate to endure it." Sirius sighed as well. There was again a short moment of silence. Then Sirius said: "you know, I've been thinking…"

"Oh God." 

"Yes, it was quite a surreal experience. But the point is – if my mother's dead, and my father as well, and my brother…" 

"Hm?" 

"Whatever happened to the house?" 

"What house?" 

"Oh, nothing important," said Sirius airily, "we just _happened _to have this mansion-type house in London which just _happened_ to be in our family for generations. Kind of an expensive thing, you know." 

"Well, I don't know," Remus answered. "As far as I know, nothing happened with it."

"You know what that probably means?" Sirius asked, pensively. 

"No. What does it mean?" 

"That it's probably mine…" This took both of them by surprise. 

"Wow! I didn't even know you used to live in London," Remus said, rather excitedly.

"That's because I ran away, remember?" Sirius replied sourly. 

"But still, it's a mansion!"

"Hey, wait, don't get all excited," Sirius warned. "It's not like the Potter's. This one is stuffed to the brim with Dark Arts and all kinds of nasty things. Including but not limited to my family." 

"We can get rid of that," Remus said optimistically. "You know what? I'll take you to London this summer, we'll take a look at your house. Hardly anybody knows you're Padfoot, it'll be quite save." 

"Only if we're going to Surrey as well, to see Harry," Sirius said, not at all looking forward to going back to his old home again. 

"Harry will be scared out of his wits to see his old teacher standing on his doorstep." 

"No he won't. And if he is, I'll growl at him."

"Ooh, really threatening." 

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Sirius grinned. 

"Speaking of threats," Remus began, then cut his own sentence off: "my God, we're really jumping from one subject to the other. Anyway, as I was saying – speaking of threats; wasn't there something about Moody and Snape?"  

"Oh, right. Harry told me Moody's suspecting Snape of something. Not that it surprises _me_… And there's more," Sirius said darkly. "You know that Durmstrang is one of the schools competing in the Triwizard?"

"They're East-European, aren't they?" Remus asked with a frown. "Specialised in the Dark Arts?" 

"Yeah, I used to have cousins there. Anyway, guess who the Headmaster is? Igor Karkaroff." Sirius suggestively raised his eyebrows. 

"Igor 'I'll betray my fellow Death Eaters to prove I'm not a Death Eater' Karkaroff?" Remus asked, taken aback. 

"The very same. And now my dearest – and only, for that matter – Godson told me that Karkaroff and Snape appeared very friendly towards one another…" Sirius suggestively waggled his eyebrows again. Remus failed to see the point, however.

"So? Seeing as both have an affinity with and love for the Dark Arts, it's hardly surprising that they'd seek each other's company," he said. 

"Yes, but there's more," Sirius said. "Harry told me that Karkaroff walked into Snape's class one day, he seemed very anxious and he was showing something on his arm."

This was interesting. "Something on his arm?" Remus repeated. "Harry couldn't see what it was?"

"He had no idea."

"Hmm…" Remus thoughtfully scratched his chin. "Do you have any idea?"

"Besides the really ludicrous ones about rashes and warts he needed a potion for? Nope."

"Me neither…" They both frowned, trying to figure this out.

"Have you told Dumbledore about it?" Remus eventually asked.

"Yeah, but he hasn't reacted to it yet," Sirius said. 

"Strange. Can't imagine him not knowing what it is."

"No, me neither." Sirius stared at the ground, frowing, thinking deeply. Remus couldn't help it; the sight of it made him smile. Although he (and James) used to tease Sirius that he wasn't able to think, it was just so… Sirius to worry himself over such a puzzle. 

The sound of wings and talons scraping over stone made both of them look up.

"Buckbeak's back," Sirius said, relieved. He got to his feet and crawled into the cave. Remus was slightly unsure about what he should do, but, after a few moments, followed his friend into the cave. 

The Hippogriff was crouched on the same leaf-covered spot he had been last Christmas. Remus carefully stayed near the entrance, still not comfortable around the fierce animal. Sirius was petting the horse-part of the Hippogriff as if it was just an ordinary pet. 

"Hey, where've you been?" he asked. "You didn't fly off to Hagrid, did you?" The last question was asked with an audible urgency. Buckbeak snorted, which Sirius hoped was "no". He turned around and saw his friend standing with his back almost against the wall.

"He's not going to eat you," he said, half-laughing. 

"Sure of it?" Remus asked. When Buckbeak heard his voice, he turned his head towards Remus. The moment he caught sight – or rather _scent_ – of the werewolf, the feathers on his neck went on end. 

"Maybe I should go outside again," Remus muttered. "I told you horses don't like me."

"Yeah, it'd seem so," Sirius said, frowning. 

"Besides, it's getting late," Remus added, already slowly moving towards the entrance, ignoring Buckbeak's stare. "I must get back home."

"I'll walk you back towards Hogsmeade," Sirius said. "People'll notice if you Apparate from here." He turned to Buckbeak. "Stay here. And this time I mean it." 

Buckbeak let out a shrieck that made Remus jump, but Sirius seemed unaffected. They both went outside and gathered the picnic things together. 

"Is there anything you want to say now you're still in your human form?" Remus asked when they were ready to walk down the mountain. 

"Uhm," Sirius thought out loud. "I'll probably think of a dozen things when we're in Hogsmeade. Write me, of course. Send food. And I'll see you again in a few months, I suppose, when it's summer." 

"Looking forward to it."

"Yeah, me too actually." Sirius grinned his patented grin at Remus. "Should I be worried now?"

"Ow shut up." Remus tried to slap Sirius' head but his friend quickly changed into Padfoot, so his head ended up several feet lower than where Remus was aiming. "That's not fair," he said. Padfoot barked, almost literally a wolfish grin on his face. 

"Haha. Now, coming with me or not?" 

The two of them walked down the mountainside again, to the wizard village. Going downhill was easier than uphill, and it took them less time than earlier that afternoon. 

Although it was the end of the afternoon, it was still light, and the air was still warm. Padfoot trotted alongside Remus to the Apparation Office. 

"Well, I'll go now," Remus said, and he patted Padfoot on the head. The Animagus suffered it patiently, then nudged Remus' hand with his snout. 

"Take care of yourself," Remus told him, and, after one final pat, he walked inside to Apparate home.

* * * * * 

_Well, I came, I saw… and I went home again. I've spend most of the evening thinking about Karkaroff's arm, but I still can't figure it out. Do ask Dumbledore again, he must know._

_I have nothing more to add, nothing I haven't said or can't say in a few months. I'll write again when I have more news._

_Moony. _


	15. An audience with Severus Snape

Still April 1995, a few weeks later…__

_"This potion is the only thing that helps. I'm very lucky to be working alongside professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who are up to making it."_

_* * * * *_

_"I came, I saw and I went home again", who said that again? It seems familiar, but I can't really place it. _

_I did ask Dumbledore again when he wrote, a few days ago, but I haven't received an answer yet. On the other hand, I don't want to ask him too much – I don't really want him telling me off for being too inquisitive and telling me to keep my nose in my own business and all that._

_Padfoot._

_* * * * * _

"Yes, how may I help you?" The bespectacled boy, looking hardly old enough to have been graduated from Hogwarts, seemed utterly bored as he sat behind the counter. Remus couldn't really blame him, working at the _Daily Prophet_ archive probably wasn't that exciting (although he would have loved spending his days among old newspapers). 

"I'm looking for information about Igor Karkaroff," he said. He'd figured that maybe rereading all the articles about the Durmstrang Headmaster might prove itself useful, even though he didn't really think it would give the answer or even a clue about the mysterious thing Karkaroff had shown Snape. 

"Are you looking for any subject in particular?" the boy drawled. He was starting to get on Remus' nerves with his uninterested behaviour. 

"Not really, just anything in which he's mentioned," he answered. 

"May I see your identification please?" Remus took out his passport. It looked pretty much the same as a muggle-passport, except that there were some tiny differences only wizards would notice. And of course muggles wouldn't have an extra bit with information about the material and the size of the wand (much to Sirius' annoying amusement when he had got his passport) and an Apparation licence. He gave it to the boy behind the counter, who casually looked at it and gave it back. 

"Thank you," he said, not sounding thankful at all. "I'll get you the newspapers. Wait here please." He turned around and pressed a few buttons on a sort of computer keyboard, except that it was made of wood, with gold-coloured symbols on it. A slip of parchment emerged from what seemed like a simple box, and the boy proceeded to type "igor karkarov", using only his index fingers.

"That's Karkaroff, with a double 'F'," Remus said. The boy let out an exasperated sigh and maybe he rolled his eyes as well, Remus couldn't see because the boy's back was turned towards him. He corrected his mistake, however, and pressed a round button on the right side of the keyboard. 

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then Remus thought he heard a low sort of rumble, and a rustling like wind through a heap of dead leaves. He glanced around to see where the noise was coming from, but saw nothing. When he turned around again, he noticed that the boy had walked towards a slit in the wall much like a letterbox. Something clicked, and several newspapers flew out of the slit onto what looked like an open wooden drawer. Had Remus been familiar with Muggle computers, he would have compared it to a printer, except that it printed out old newspapers. 

The pictures on the newspapers were charmed to stay still, so that the paper would get worn out too soon. However, the moment the boy took them up they started moving again.  

Remus received the papers, along with a dull "here you are, sir" and the directions to the reading room. Remus wanted to thank the boy, but he had already taken up his comic book again and didn't respond. 

When Remus unfolded the first newspaper, it seemed as if he had travelled back in time. The lay-out was slightly different from the current lay-out, but that wasn't it. It were the headlines, all about Death Eaters and Voldemort, that made him feel as if the War was just over, that the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry's Aurors were still busy 'cleaning up' as they used to call it back then, and that his friends died only a few months ago…

But he found out that it wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be. There was no painful sting, no trauma's which welled up again, no agonising. Now that he knew who really was to blame, it was somewhat easier to think about it – it turned out that Peter betraying his friends was easier to accept than Sirius betraying them, strangely enough. 

The first newspaper didn't give much information, except the mention of Karkaroff's name in a list of sought-after Death Eaters. He went on to the next paper, not wasting time reading the other articles, mainly horrorstories about the things Voldemort and especially his followers had done, and of course dribble about how great Harry was. 

The next newspaper was dated six months later, and announced that Igor Karkaroff was caught, by the hands of Alastor Moody (not yet with the 'mad' eye) no less. 

"That will be fun at Hogwarts, with those two running around," Remus muttered. He could just picture it: Moody barely keeping himself from hexing the Durmstrang Headmaster, Karkaroff trying to stay away from the ex-Auror, and Dumbledore in the middle trying to keep the peace. 

The rest of the article wasn't that interesting, just an account of what Karkaroff had been sentenced for. Remus had actually read and heard worse. The next newspaper came as a surprise, however. 

_'DEATH EATER SPEAKS OUT'_ was the headline. A black-and-white photograph of Karkaroff was placed under it, leering at the reader. This was what Remus remembered, and what he had meant when he had called Karkaroff "Igor 'I'll betray my fellow Death Eaters to prove I'm not a Death Eater' Karkaroff": after only a short stay in Azkaban, Karkaroff had given way, and he had named several names of fellow Death Eaters, just to get out of prison. Only one of those names had proven right, but it had been enough. A few months later, the man had been freed by order of Bartemius Crouch. 

The article was accompanied by a word-to-word account of what Karkaroff had said, and it was this that took Remus by surprise. It was a mere line, almost said in passing, but when he reread it now, he couldn't understand how he could've forgotten it: Snape had been a Death Eater. 

He absentmindedly stuck a finger in his mouth and pensively chewed on it. So old Snape had been one of Voldemort´s supporters. Given the man's background and extremely, well, Slytherin history, it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise. The most logical conclusion would then be that Karkaroff showed Snape something Death Eater-related – Remus didn't buy the man's assurance that he renounced Voldemort. But then there was Dumbledore claiming that "he is now no more a Death Eater than I am". It was all so confusing. 

He suddenly noticed he was chewing on his finger. He took it out of his mouth. "Bad habit," he muttered. The entire matter irked him – the thing with Karkaroff, that was, not his bad habits. He had that annoying feeling that the solution to the problem was just out of reach, he needed just one final clue…  

The clock outside the reading room struck one. Remus looked up and suddenly, sighing,  remembered he had agreed to meet Sabina, Ruth and the Mills-family at half past one. He didn't want to, but he had promised he would be there, so he had to. 

He therefor quickly leafed through the fourth and last newspaper, dated a few years later, which didn't contain anything interesting, except an announcement, somewhere in a corner, that Karkaroff was appointed Headmaster of Durmstrang. 

Remus took out a sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it over the transcription of Karkaroff's testimony. He brushed his wand over the paper, and an exact copy of the article appeared. He folded the copy and put it in his pocket again; he would later send it to Sirius, maybe his friend knew what to make of it. 

He returned the papers to the boy and walked out of the archive and Apparated, albeit rather grudgingly, to his appointment.  

_Can someone please remind me what I'm doing here? _he thought miserably, half an hour later. _There are so many other things I could do right now. Like… uhm… watch paint dry. _

The problem was that the meetings had got very boring, simply because Sabina and Ruth hadn't quite caught on yet that the method didn't work. Remus had known it from the start, Mr and Mrs Mills had realised it when Remus' suggestion, the Wolfsbane Potion, worked better than the alternative method, but they were all too polite to say it. 

The downside of this was that he really had to force himself to fake something even vaguely resembling interest. Especially today he had a hard time concentrating, and he spend most of the time playing with the lemon slice in his tea and thinking about Karkaroff while the others were having a conversation about… something. Only once in a while his attention switched to the others at the table, usually just enough to be able to make a sensible comment. 

Before he knew it (but still after too long a time), the meeting was over and he could get outside again. The two witches disappeared after saying good-bye, but the Mills family waited for Remus. 

"Hey, what's up?" he said, pulling one of Fay's whiteblond plaits. It was remarkable what effect a few goblets of Wolfsbane Potion had: the fur on her face was gone, her nails were back to normal, and it even seemed that she stood straighter, with more confidence. "I see the Potion worked?" She nodded happily, her yellow eyes shining. 

"It worked wonderfully," her mother said. "It was really amazing." Remus smiled at her.

"I know."

"It was really disgusting too," Fay said, wrinkling her nose. 

"I know," Remus repeated, grinning. "But it works, that's what counts." 

The other three agreed. Remus walked with them to their car (Fay's father was a Muggle and not really font of the wizard way of transportation). When they were almost there, Mrs Mills turned towards Remus. 

"You know, we've been thinking…" she began, then stopped.

"Yes?" 

"About that professor, who makes the Potion for you – " She explained it as though Remus didn't know who it was, he noticed with a faint amusement, " – We would actually like to meet him."

Remus laughed. "Bad idea."

"But why? We would very much like to meet the man who's made the Potion for Fay, to thank him." 

"He doesn't do thanks," Remus explained. Only the thought of it made him smile; Snape standing there in his dungeons, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude.  

"He doesn't do thanks?" Mr Mills repeated, frowning. 

"No. You see, he's rather…" Remus hesitated. How was he going to put this without making a rude comment? "He rather likes to keep to himself. He doesn't want too many people bothering him with, you know, coming over to thank him and stuff."

"Is he that modest?" Mrs Mills wanted to know. 

"Well…" _I wouldn't exactly call him modest…_ Remus thought. "He's just a… very private person. To keep people away, he even lives in the dungeons of Hogwarts – " 

He had said the magic word: _Hogwarts_.

Every child with even the tiniest bit of magic in their blood is brought up with the idea of Hogwarts as some kind of children's paradise with candy and pranks and amazing animals, ruled over by Dumbledore as the peaceful and indulgent king. 

Fay was no difference. When Remus mentioned Snape living at Hogwarts, her eyes began to shine, and she pulled Remus' sleeve.

"Does he really live at Hogwarts?" she asked. Remus confirmed this, and now she really clung to his arm. "Could you _please_ take us? Please? Please? Please?" 

"But he's really mean and grumpy and you won't like him," Remus told her. She stared up at him with great, yellow, pleading eyes. 

"Please?" 

A few minutes later, when he Apparated home, he rather detested himself. 

_I really need to get some kind of training to get more assertive_, Remus thought moodily. It was a few days after the meeting. He had obediently sent a letter to Snape asking for what could very well be described as an audience, and he had received something back that one would summarise as 'whatever'. He had taken that as "yes". 

And that's how it came to be that he, Fay and Mrs Mills (Fay's father, as a Muggle, couldn't see Hogwarts)  were now walking through Hogmeade, on their way to Hogwarts. It was evening (Snape was teaching during the day), but it wasn't dark yet, and it was warm enough to keep one's coat open. 

Remus kept an eye out for a familiar black dog, but didn't see his friend, which was rather comforting – at least Sirius didn't constantly stray into Hogsmeade. 

Fay was skipping and constantly running ahead and back again, unable to contain her energy. She was overjoyed that she was really going to Hogwarts, and she was asking Remus thousand-and-one questions about it until he told her to just wait and see. 

There was no horseless carriage waiting for them at the gates, they had to walk all the way up to the castle, but the look on Fay's face when she finally saw it was worth it. 

At first she didn't notice it, too busy with eager talking and bouncing up and down. When Remus stopped her and turned her head into the right direction, her jaw dropped and she froze. 

He had to admit it was a magnificent view. They were standing on a curve in the road, which was from that point going downhill, towards the gates of the castle. The castle itself was visible through an opening in the trees, and there was a beautiful prospect over the lake, with Hogwarts on its cliff, looming over it. The many towers and turrets were gleaming in the late sunlight, and suddenly a flock of birds flew past it, looking really small next to the giant castle. 

"Wow," Fay whispered. She hadn't noticed her mother and Remus had already walked on until Mrs Mills called her. She ran to catch up with them.

"It's really so enormously big," she said breathlessly. "There must be a thousand people living there." 

"At least a few hundred," Remus smiled. 

"Is it true they have ghosts?" she wanted to know.

"Several," he told her. "One for every house, and several extra ghosts. And a really annoying Poltergeist called Peeves." 

"Do you think we get to see him?" Fay asked eagerly. 

"I hope not," her mother answered. She pulled a face. "Really annoying just about sums him up." 

As they descended down the road, the lake and the castle came into better view. Remus could now see the Durmstrang ship in the lake, and faint ripples in the water that were probably made by the Squid. The closer they came to the castle, the more excited Fay got until her mother told her to cut it out. They rather quietly reached the large oak doors. 

Remus pushed them open and made sure to look around the Entrance Hall before he let Fay and her mother in. He didn't want to run into someone familiar, least of all his fanclub of last year – he wasn't exactly looking forward to long explanations of what he was doing here. 

Lucky for him, the Hall was completely deserted, and he quickly led mother and daughter to the dungeons, down the stairs, into the draughty, torch-lit hallways. 

"It's really dark down here," Fay whispered. The sight of the Marble Staircase, and Hogwarts in general, seemed to have taken her voice away. 

"Hmm," Remus vaguely answered. It was slightly unnerving to see that the dungeons hadn't changed from last year, and it almost felt as if he was going to Snape for the Wolfsbane Potion again. Except that this time he had two people in tow. 

He knocked on the door and waited. To his surprise, Snape opened the door himself, and it was even more surprising that they had had to wait only a few seconds. Apparently the Potions Master had been waiting for someone, and not for them. 

It also immediately became apparent that Snape was as unchanged as his dungeons.

"Lupin," he said. Remus realised that there was nobody in the world who said his name like Snape did. It wasn't a greeting, it was the establishing of something extremely dirty under his expensive, brand new shoes. Remus had since long learned to pay no attention to it, however.

"Good-evening, Severus," he said pleasantly. "Can we come in or are you busy?" Fay was already peeking around his arm to see what was inside the dungeon.

"I wasn't particularly busy at the moment," Snape said, albeit with obvious reluctance. He hadn't really counted on them coming. "So I guess you can come in." 

Fay didn't seem to have enough eyes when she walked inside. She was looking this way and that, trying to see everything at once. She was twitching with excitement, wanting nothing more but permission to go ahead and explore. Even Snape's infamous slimy collection didn't scare her off. 

It turned out that they were in the Potion Master's laboratory annex sitting room (that was, there were a lot of cauldrons and ingredients and potion books and scrolls and bottles and what-not, and in a corner there were two seats and a small table crammed on a threadbare rug).  

A somewhat awkward silence followed their entrance, only broken by a soft bubbling from a cauldron on a small fire. It didn't help much that Snape was leering at his visitors like an overgrown bat. Remus decided that introductions might be a good idea, someone had to begin anyway, so he broke the silence. 

"Uhm, well, let me introduce you," he said. "Snape, this is, err, Ann Mills; Mrs Mills, this is Severus Snape." Snape at least had the civility to shake hands. Then he looked at Fay.

"And this is?" 

"That's Fay, the girl I wrote you about," Remus explained. Snape stared down his prominent nose at the smaller girl, who fearlessly looked back up. _It's obvious she hasn't sat through one of his lessons yet,_ Remus thought wryly. 

"I see," Snape said finally. He turned around and invited them rather stiffly to sit down. Mrs Mills was the only one who sat down in one of the comfortable chairs – Remus choose to sit on a stool, because there was something uneasy about sitting in one of Snape´s chairs, Fay sat down next to him and Snape remained standing. 

_Probably because he's towering over us then and he looks impressive,_ Remus thought. 

His former colleague even asked them if they'd like something to drink – although it looked as if he was mentally checking off a list and had now reached 'drinks', after 'introduction' and 'seating'. 

Mrs Mills asked for tea and Remus quickly agreed with her, not wanting to be too much of a bother. Fay was looking around the room again and didn't notice the three adults looking at her until Remus nudged her. She jumped.

"Sorry," she said softly. Then she noticed Snape once again staring down at her, this time an eyebrow half-raised (it was interesting, Remus noted, how you could read Snape's mood from the position his eyebrows were in). Fay looked back innocently. 

"Chocolatemilk?" 

Fifteen minutes later, Remus realised that, once Snape got past the initial hostility and stiffness, he was actually capable of civil conversation. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but there the man was, talking – almost good-humouredly even –  with Mrs Mills. Remus figured it must have had something to do with the fact that she was a complete stranger. He himself kept a bit on the side, he didn't want to intrude their conversation and make Snape turn into the nasty Snape Remus knew. 

He got distracted when Fay pulled his sleeve with her left hand, the cup with warm chocolatemilk balancing precariously in her right hand. 

"Hey," she whispered. "How come our drinks appeared out of nowhere on the table?" The sudden appearance of the drinks had intrigued her, but so far she hadn't dared ask how they appeared because of the glare Snape had given her when she'd bounced a little too excitedly on her stool and nearly toppled over. "Is it magic?" she wanted to know.

"No, house-elves," Remus whispered back. She smiled; the puzzle was solved.

"Hey Remus," she whispered. "What are those things in those jars?" She pointed at Snape's collection.    

"Don't know actually," he said truthfully. "They look nasty though." 

"D'you think I could take a look?" she asked. She glanced at Snape, but the man was at the moment immersed in a detailed conversation about the Wolfsbane Potion Remus didn't understand. 

"Sure, if we don't knock anything over," Remus said. He sounded less careful than he felt, however – he wasn't sure whether Snape would approve of such a sudden examination of his precious collection. But he figured he'd just find out, so he got up from his stool. "C'mon." 

He immediately felt Snape's eyes on him but ignored that. Fay got up as well and followed Remus towards the shelves with jars. 

It turned out that Snape had charmed the jars so that they lit themselves – it seemed as if a lightbulb was hid under the lid. Greenish light fell on Fay's face as she curiously examined the disfigured animals and the exotic plants that were carefully stored in a sort of lightgreen goo (Sirius would probably call it snot) that kept the objects in perfect shape and prevented them from rotting. 

"Where does he get all this?" Fay asked eagerly. 

"God only knows," Remus muttered, and he pulled a face when he saw a kitten with three heads. He glanced back at Snape, who had picked up the conversation with Mrs Mills again now that he was somewhat sure they weren't going to juggle his jars. "Come, let's go and see what he's got in those cauldrons." 

"Okay." Fay took one last look at a gigantic Venus Fly-trap, then she followed Remus towards the various cauldrons. 

"This one's big," she noted when she'd reached the first one. Indeed, she easily could have taken a bath in the massive cauldron. She peered inside. "Oh, it's empty. I wonder if it echoes?" She bowed over to get her head inside, and from a corner of his eye Remus saw Snape tense. He pulled Fay back by the scruff of her neck.

"Let's not do that, unless you want to get Snape angry," he said softly. 

"Is that dangerous?" she whispered back.

"Yes, because he'll bite you and then you get just like him," he teased. She giggled. 

They quietly continued to walk down the row of cauldrons as if they were in a museum. Neither of them knew much about brewing potions, so they were more admiring the effects and the smoke billowing from the potions than the craftsmanship of the Potions Master. 

"What does this one do?" Fay wanted to know when he'd picked her up so that she could look at the colour-changing potion. 

"I don't know," he said. He looked around for a book that could give a clue. "It changes colours…" 

"And it stinks," she said, wrinkling her nose. Her face made him laugh.

"Yes, it does." The smell was even worse for their sensitive noses; Remus doubted whether Snape or Mrs Mills would notice anything unusual about it. 

The four of them looked up when there was a knocking on the door. Snape went to open it, revealing, to Remus' surprise, none other than Dumbledore. 

"Good-evening, Severus," the Headmaster said, pleasant as ever. Then he noticed Mrs Mills. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor." Then he saw Remus and Fay, and a smile appeared on his face. "Remus!" Remus couldn't help but smile back. 

"Good-evening professor." 

_The Quibbler_ could actually have a point about Dumbledore and Father Christmas being related; Fay was entranced when she saw the silver-haired wizard. Remus put her down on the floor again, but she was too impressed to move. 

Snape was mumbling something Remus couldn't understand, but he thought he got the main message: it was Dumbledore Snape had been waiting for, and he now wanted them out of his dungeon. Remus decided to be co-operative.

"Perhaps we should go," he said. Mrs Mills got the hint and got to her feet. Dumbledore politely stepped out of the way so that they could get through the door. Fay couldn't take her eyes off the Headmaster, and he winked at her when she walked past him, making her blush furiously. 

_Completely star-struck_, Remus thought with amusement. 

Just as Snape reached for the doorknob to close the door, Remus remembered about Snape's and Karkaroff's left arm, but it was already too late, the door was already closed. After a short moment of frustration, he shrugged it off – Sirius was going to ask Dumbledore about it anyway. 

The three of them walked back to the Entrance Hall again. Fay was completely overwhelmed that she was at Hogwarts _and_ had seen Dumbledore, and she was too amazed to say anything. 

Remus had just pushed an oak door open, when Mrs Mills spoke. "What's that clunking sound?" she asked. Remus turned around. 

A man came down the stairs, supporting himself with a stick. There was a _clunk_ on every other step he did. It took Remus a few seconds before he realised that it was Alastor Moody, and before he knew what he was doing, he had called out the ex-Auror's name.

Moody jumped and looked up, his magical eye fixed on the three people. Remus hadn't seen the eye in real life yet, and its cold light-blue stare was unnerving. 

"What?" Moody growled. "Who's there?" 

"Remus," Remus said. "Remus Lupin, remember?" _Is his memory that bad?_

"Oh, Lupin," Moody said, after a moment of hesitation. "Right, sorry. I'm afraid I don't have time to… catch up with you." And he already walked away again, past the three, towards the dungeons. Remus thought he noticed a faint smell of overcooked cabbages, but maybe that was his imagination. 

"Who was that?" Fay wanted to know once Moody was gone.

"Used to be a Dark Wizard-catcher," Remus explained, still looking in the direction Moody had gone. Something was puzzling him but he didn't quite knew what. He shrugged it off, almost irritable. He probably _was_ imagining things.

"Come on, let's go." 

~*~

Sirius had started to notice that Dumbledore's owl had a slight knack of showing off. It always made a point of landing extra gracefully, or on a really small rock an ordinary bird wouldn't land on. It was probably to show why he was the Headmaster's bird, and not a common school-owl.

He untied the letter from the bird's paw and tore the seal open. The letter was as disappointing as Sirius had silently expected. Dumbledore was as evasive and secretive as usual, not giving any answers whatsoever.

Sirius turned the letter around to write an answer back, but couldn't think of anything to write except 'gee, thanks for nothing', which he didn't think was very polite. 

He irritably scratched his head. The problem with letters was that he always thought of a thousand things more to say or ask – five minutes after he'd send the letter. And it always took days or sometimes weeks before he got an answer. Talking was just easier. 

After ten more minutes of racking his brains, he scribbled a nondescript answer back ("thanks for your letter, I will think about what you said", something like that) and tied to the owl's paw again. The animal took off, leaving him alone again. 

* * * * *

_Padfoot, I think you got two things mixed up. It's not 'I came, I saw, I went home again', but 'I came, I saw and I conquered' – Veni, vidi, vici, remember? Julius Caesar? Who conquered the Gaols? I bet _they_ wished he said he went home again… _

_Yes, sometimes you are being too inquisitive, but that's not always a bad thing. Keep nagging him, especially about Karkaroff – I've enclosed an article about him that you might find interesting. _

_Do keep writing,_

_Moony._


	16. Farewells and a visit

Here's more fict! I sat up until one o'clock this morning to finish it - can't say I don't sacrfice things for you, can you? ;)I believe Cassandra Claire's Draco-series also has a band called Incantation, but I only remembered that after I'd come up with it myself, so it's not really stolen. The lyrics are mine, and you will see that I'm absolutely horrible at writing songs.  
I won't say any more before I give too much away, so here's the new chapter! It contains some strong language but nothing really _really_ bad.

**May 1995.**

"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year." 

_* * * * * _

_And I'm supposed to know who the Gaols are and who Julius Caesar is? _

_Thank you very much for the article, by the way, it was very informative. I hadn't read it before (obviously) and it gave me a clearer image of exactly what had happened. I did ask Dumbledore about it, but as usually he responded with a long-winded answer that was so vague it wasn't an answer at all. Darn that man. I guess I just have to keep bugging him. Fortunately, I apparently used to be quite good at that (right?)._

_Padfoot._

_* * * * * _

The black record did a soft 'shh' when Remus slit it out of the sleeve. Carefully holding the record by the edges as not to leave fingerprints on it and ruin it, he put it on the record player and placed the needle in the middle. Even though it had been a while, his fingers almost reflexively found the first number. A high-pitched screeching immediately blasted through the room, and Monster quickly hid under the sofa. 

"Don't worry," Remus told his pet, rather hoarsely (another Change had passed, and it something had this effect on his voice). "It's not a real Banshee. It's just a record." 

The screeching was replaced by four singers, wailing mournfully. Then a depressing song started, telling the tale of a man who was afraid to go home after he had heard a Banshee cry, because he knew that meant someone had died, and he was afraid to find out who it was. Remus hummed along with it, picked up his broom (the Muggle version, not one for flying) and started sweeping the kitchen floor. Monster saw what he was doing and happily emerged from under the sofa to sit right in front of the brush of the broom and be swept around the kitchen, his favourite past-time when Remus was sweeping the floor. Remus gave the broom a good sweep and Monster slid over the floor, bouncing against the walls. The record gave an almost inaudible creak and went on to play the second number. 

The music was that of Incantation, a wizard band from the seventies and the most popular band among Remus' generation. Listening to it meant you were officially old, stuffy and grown-up. Had Harry been raised in the wizard world, he would have rolled his eyes in disgust at his parents and their friends listening to 'that stuff'. Granted, the Weird Sisters were rather good too, Remus had to admit that, but there was nothing like Incantation. Children nowadays just didn't recognise good music when they heard it (Remus suddenly had vague memories of his own parents announcing that jazz was way better than '_that stuff_' Remus and his brother were listening to, but he quickly repressed those thoughts). 

The third number started, Remus' favourite. He gave Monster another sweep through the room and loudly sang along with the song. It wasn't just that this number was – predictably enough – about werewolves (according to the Marauders it was "your own private song Moony!"), but there was also a nice little bit with howling wolves which was wonderful to sing along to. But only in private or with a whole lot of other people singing along, of course. 

"_Werewolf in the forest, howling to the moon_," he sang. "_Werewolf in the forest, the sound of impending doom… _dumdeedum." Monster got another sweep. "_Your scream in my ears, your flesh between my teeth, your blood on my face, it's on you I feed _– is it just me or are those lyrics extremely disturbing?" 

The four singers ignored Remus, however, and burst out in a long howling that was almost identical to that of a real wolf. Monster came to a skidding halt and stared in wonder up at the very human Remus. It wasn't right: he heard a wolf but saw a human Remus. 

"I told you, it's a record," Remus told the animal. "It's not real." 

The song ended it another howl, which echoed around the room, and then the fourth number started. It was a hard-rock version of the Hogwarts school song, sung in honour of the seven years the four singers had spend at the magical school, and Remus remembered how, on one memorable feast, almost the entire school had sung this version – with Dumbledore happily conducting them and singing along. And he also remembered that McGonagall's lips had suddenly seemed thinner than usual. Apparently not a fan either. 

He gave the broom a final sweep and decided that the floor was clean enough. Monster sadly purred when Remus put the broom away. But he was ignored, and he scurried off to find something else to do. 

Remus wished he could find something else to do as well, but he already had an appointment. By now, the whole 'cure for werewolves'-thing had got really annoying. Not so much the happening itself, but rather the fact that Remus was simply too polite and too _nice_ to break the news that it wasn't working. Another Change had come and went, and still nothing had happened. He had to make an end to it before it got awkward. More awkward than it already was, at the very least.

"Today's resolution," he muttered, "tell Ruth and Sabina to bugger off." The wording wasn't that polite, perhaps, but hopefully it was harsh enough to make him remember and actually _do_ it instead of it being – once again – a promise never fulfilled. 

He nearly didn't do it. When he sat down (again in a small restaurant) and saw them smiling politely at them, genuinely still thinking that their way was _the_ way, he didn't really have the heart to tell them. 

_How can a man who turns into a snarling monster once a month be such a softy at heart? _he wondered. He really was too nice for his own good. 

Remus had always had the habit of pretending he wasn't there whenever he felt bad or if something wasn't as he'd liked it. He'd rather run and hide than fight. And that was why he was now sitting hunched over his tea and apple-pie, his horns drawn in, pretending he wasn't there and hoping the others didn't notice him. Pity really that it was so hard to avoid attention in a group of only six persons. 

"Well," Sabina broke the silence. "How is everything going?" She seemed almost ridiculously cheerful.

Remus glanced sideways to the Mills family. Fay was stirring her chocolatemilk, avoiding anyone's eyes much like he had tried to do himself. Her parents seemed uncomfortable as well, and they were nervously shifting in their seats. 

"Everything's going excellent," Mrs Mills finally said, albeit a bit hesitantly. Remus sighed. So it really was up to him now. He gritted his teeth and gave himself a mental kick. If he was going to burst their bubble, he'd better do it quickly. 

"Yes, excellent," he said, "given the fact that I Changed again a few days ago, just like the past few months." 

Silence.

"What?" Sabina said eventually. Remus found five pairs of eyes on him. It was almost enough to make him deny everything he'd said. But he had to go on now. He'd said A, now it was time to say the rest of the alphabet as well. _Unfortunately enough_, he thought. 

"Like I said," he said, mumbling a bit. He didn't like doing this at all. "I changed into a werewolf, just like last month, and the month before that, and so on."  

"But… we thought…" Sabina stuttered. Ruth seemed too lost for words to say anything. "Didn't it work? The meditation and relaxation, I mean?" 

"Uh, no," Remus admitted. 

"But why didn't you tell us?" Exactly the question he had been dreading the most. 

"Because…" he said, then hesitated. How was he going to say this in a nice way? "Because we were all too… polite. Uhm. Well, we… Uhm. Because we didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Fay's parents nodded their silent consent, but Remus would have liked it better if they'd speak up and help him out. 

"Oh," Sabina replied. Both she and Ruth looked rather disappointed, and Remus couldn't really blame them. 

"You see, all that meditating and all only worked the other way around," he hurried to explain. "Instead of making the Wolf inside weaker, it seemed to get stronger. That's why we were looking so… odd, a couple of weeks ago. There was no control, the Wolf was sort of free to come out." 

"Oh." The six of them were silent for a few moments. Remus felt slightly guilty, but at the same time rather… happy. At least he'd spoken up. 

"So… it really didn't work?" Sabina asked, still a bit hopeful against better judgement.

"No," he admitted. "It really didn't work. I'm not sure if there even is a cure. I'm sorry." _For what actually? _he thought. 'I'm sorry' was one of those phrases that rolled too easily off his tongue. 

A long silence followed. Mr and Mrs Mills seemed too embarrassed to say anything and Sabina and Ruth were still recovering from the shock. Remus glanced at Fay, who smiled back at him. The whole awkward conversation appeared to have gone right over her head.

"Okay," Sabina finally broke the silence with a half-sigh. She literally seemed to pick herself together, then straightened her back and smiled. "Well, that's a disappointment." Remus had to admire the way she faced his disappointing announcement. He decided it was a bad idea to tell them at he'd known it wouldn't work all along – he figured that saying 'I told you so!' wasn't the most tactical thing to do. 

The tense atmosphere slowly got less, but never really disappeared. Sabina and Ruth left pretty soon afterwards, claiming they had somewhere else to go to. They parted with farewells and 'perhaps we'll meet again!'s none of them really meant. When the Mills family and Remus were along again, they looked at one another and almost simultaneously let out a sigh. 

"I believe we should thank you for saying that," Mrs Mills said. Her husband nodded. 

"It was time someone did it," he said, "but, like you said, we were all too polite." 

Remus nodded vaguely. He suddenly felt tired. Telling someone the truth turned out to be quite an exhausting experience. 

"I think it's time we go as well," Mrs Mills announced. The four of them got to their feet and walked outside. For the last time, Remus was them toward their car. Fay was walking next to him, more serious than usual. She had realised that this was probably the last time she saw Remus.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked, looking up at him.   

"I don't know," he said. "Go home, and… do the same as usual, I think. What are _you_ going to do?" 

She shrugged. "Dunno. Go to school, I guess."

"And to Hogwarts, in a few years."   

Her smile lit up her whole face. "Yes!" Just the thought of the wizard school made her skip.

"And then?" he asked. "Work on the Wolfsbane Potion to improve the taste? You would do us both a favour."

"I think I want to do something with dragons," she said seriously, a slight frown on her face. "Do you know if they got dragons at Hogwarts?" 

"I think not," he said pensively. "They used to have them for the Triwizard, but I think they're back… home now." _Wherever that may be. _

"Pity," was Fay's comment. Remus had a feeling Hagrid would agree with her. 

They reached the Mills' car, and Fay's father unlocked the door. Her parents already got in, but Fay – rather unexpectedly – threw her arms around Remus' waist (she barely reached higher) and gave him a tight hug. Remus picked her up so that she could put her arms around his neck instead.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"Miss you," she answered softly. This made him smile.

"Miss me? What's there to miss about me?" Her yellow eyes, now so close to his, gave him the answer: someone who is just like me. 

He gave her a hug back, but said almost in spite of that: "now, this won't do. Your parents are already waiting for you. C'mon, you're going to go home, and in a few years you'll go to Hogwarts. And who knows, maybe I'll come and check on you to see if you haven't changed into a little Snape by then." 

She wrinkled her nose but laughed nonetheless, a laugh that was shy and a little sad. It made Remus instinctively do something he had done with only five people before. He bowed his head towards her, carefully took her jaw between his teeth and gently shook her head. 

It was a wolf's equivalent of a kiss goodbye, and so far he'd only done it, in wolf-form, with Padfoot and Prongs, and with his parents and brother in human form. It was a very intimate, loving gesture, but he had learned to stop doing it when it kept freaking people out – his muggle-born mother had nearly knocked him off the bed when he had climbed in one morning, only months after the Bite, to greet her this way. 

But Fay didn't seem surprised or unnerved. On the contrary: she nudged his cheek with her nose, a little cub greeting an older wolf. It was so instinctively, it felt so natural, they were absorbed in their own little world and both started when Fay's mother called her name. 

She had climbed half out of the car again, one foot still in it. There was a slightly concerned frown on her face. 

Remus put Fay back on the ground again and gave her a nudge towards the car. "C'mon, time to go," he said. She obediently climbed in the back of the car and fastened her seatbelt. Remus smiled reassuringly at Mrs Mills, who gave a smile back and took her seat again. Her husband turned on the engine and started to drive away. Fay turned around, waving at Remus. He waved back until they turned around a corner, out of sight. 

Then he Apparated home. 

~*~

Sirius had decided to clean his cave. Granted, there wasn't much to clean, but he thought he might as well do it anyway. It would give him something to do before nightfall, before he went to bed. 

He gathered his old, tattered plastic bags together. They were nearly falling apart, and the handles were torn so that he had to hold them by the edge of the bag, which was rather awkward. 

He unpacked them (that is, he turned them upside down above his bed) and started sorting his stuff out. The bits of moulting bread he had saved for when he was getting desperate, old napkins and old useless newspapers all went on his 'throw away'-pile. The papers with important news, all Dumbledore´s, Harry's and Remus' letters, the roadmap and the edible food were all carefully piled on his bed. He stuffed the waste in one of the plastic bags and that bag in another bag until he had used them all, and stored it in a corner of his cave until he'd throw it away, later on the day. Then he picked up the rucksack Remus had given him, months ago. He had cleverly transformed it into a pillow (recipe: take a rucksack of relatively soft material and an old Azkaban uniform. Put uniform in the rucksack. Fold handles of rucksack over front. Rest head on back of rucksack. Sleep) but he decided that the uniform without the rucksack was as good a pillow as with it. Sirius only hoped that the rucksack really was waterproof, as Remus had claimed it was.

He packed the newspapers, the letters, the map and the food in the rucksack and carefully put it next to his bed, where he would easily notice it if it was gone. 

He walked to the plastic bag with trash and picked it up again. He stood there thinking for a moment, his back turned towards the large opening on the Hogwarts-side of the cave. A soft, warm breeze was coming through it, playing with his long tangled hair, but he didn't notice it. How was he going to get this bag into Hogsmeade in Padfoot-form? He couldn't carry it in his mouth without a handle.

"Good afternoon Sirius." 

The following happened pretty much all at once. Buckbeak let out a shriek and scrambled to his feet. Sirius' heart skipped a beat and he staggered forward, headlong into the painfully solid wall of the cave. He cursed violently and turned around, but the light coming in through the opening blinded him. He could only see a tall, rather thin man.

"Get back!" he shouted. "I have a wand and am absolutely not afraid to use it!" _I have a plastic bag with waste and am not afraid to use it, more like,_ he thought. _Bloody, bloody, bloody f-cking bugger sh-t from hell. _He was frantically racking his brain, trying to find a way to get out of here, or at least die in a respectable way, not with his back against the wall. 

The stranger didn't seem affected by Sirius' bluff, however. He walked into the cave, one of his hands raised and outstretched as if he was trying to calm Sirius. The sunlight caught a few strands of a long beard, which shone silvery in the light.

Beard? Silver beard? 

The image gallery that was Sirius' memory rushed through thousands of pictures at topspeed, and finally settled on two options: Dumbledore or Father Christmas. Since it was hardly the season for sleigh rides, reindeer and Christmas presents (although he wouldn't refuse a present if he got offered one), Sirius decided that this was indeed the Hogwarts Headmaster.

He slid along the wall onto the floor. "Bloody hell." 

Dumbledore crouched besides him, smiling. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realised it would give you such a fright." 

Sirius stared back at him. "No, it's just that I… just… bloody hell." He was still gasping for breath, and those two words were at the moment the only thing he could say, or even think. Dumbledore waited patiently beside him until he had recovered. 

"Can you please knock, next time?" Sirius said finally. "Or, you know, give me a heads up? Notify me? Send me a letter? A memo? Anything?" 

Dumbledore helped the still shaking Sirius to his feet. "To tell you the truth, as of this morning I had no idea I would be visiting you," the elder man confessed. Sirius had steady ground under his feet again and Dumbledore let go of his arm. 

"What? Why? There isn't an emergency, is there?" he wanted to know. 

"No, nothing life-threatening so far," Dumbledore shushed. 

"'So far'?" Sirius repeated. 

"I've seen more and more signs that something might happen, that something is actually very likely to happen, and that Harry will be the centre of it."

Sirius let out a heartfelt "bugger". If Dumbledore was taking offence at this, he didn't show it. 

Buckbeak, at ease again, ruffled his feathers, drawing Sirius back to the here-and-now, and to more important matters. At the moment anyway. 

"Er, have you already bowed for Buckbeak?" he asked. "I don't want to risk you getting ripped apart." 

"No, I haven't done that yet, but thank you for the attentive thought," Dumbledore said gracefully. He walked to Buckbeak and bowed equally as gracefully for the animal, who almost immediately sunk through his knees. It was the fastest Sirius had ever seen him react to a bow. 

"Great," he said. "Uhm, I'm afraid I don't have any seats or anything…" With Remus and Harry he hadn't bothered about seating, but there was something about Dumbledore that made you scurry about to make him feel comfortable. Almost as if you were being visited by the Minister for Magic (or the Queen, or the president, depending on where you lived). 

"Oh, don't worry about that," Dumbledore said lightly. He took out his wand and sketched something in mid-air. Two chairs and a table appeared out of thin air and soundlessly fell on the floor. 

"Wow," Sirius said.

"Take a seat," Dumbledore offered. 

Sirius was slightly hesitant about taking a seat. He tried to remember the last time he had sat on a chair, but he found it a really hard job. _The last time was probably at Remus' house_, he thought,_ at the end of the summer. And before that – in Flitwick's office, two months before that, when they'd locked me up again. And before that… I can't remember. _

He slowly pulled the chair back and sat down, carefully as if the chair could explode any minute. Dumbledore sat down as well and waved his wand again. This time a teatray with a silver teapot, two cups and a bowl of biscuits appeared. Little did Sirius know that the Headmaster had done the same in Hagrid's hut, a few months previously, in Harry's presence. 

"Do you take sugar in your tea?" he asked as if this was just an ordinary teaparty in an ordinary house with two ordinary persons with ordinary lives.

"Uhm, I guess so," Sirius said hesitantly. "Two lumps please." 

Dumbledore poured tea in the cups, added sugar and a spoon and handed Sirius his cup. Sirius sat there a bit awkwardly, stirring his tea, eyeing the bowl of biscuits longingly. Dumbledore finally pushed the bowl towards him.

"Here, take one, they're meant for eating," he said. Sirius took two biscuits; modesty had never been one of his better qualities. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound that of the wind through the trees, Buckbeak scratching with his talons over the floor, and the soft tinkling of teaspoons against china cups. It gave Sirius enough time to gather his wits together again, and he eventually put his teacup down and said: "so, what's the reason of your visit?" 

Dumbledore carefully brushed the crumbs from his beard and only spoke when he was finished. "Like I said," he said, "I have heard more and more signs that something is going to happen, something big, and it involves Voldemort." 

"Wormtail," Sirius said. His guess wasn't that wild. Ever since he knew Peter was still alive, he knew that he would somehow go back to Voldemort and help him back to full power, no matter how. Peter was one of those persons who needed someone stronger to look after him. The Marauders were out of the question now, especially after what he had done to the Potters. Everybody else thought he was dead, the Death Eaters (those who knew that Peter was one of them anyway) thought he was the one who had led Voldemort to the Potters and to his downfall – Voldemort was really the only one Peter had left to go to. 

"You said there were signs," he said. "What signs?"

Dumbledore put his cup down as well. "You asked me a few weeks ago about something Harry had seen, that Igor Karkaroff was showing Severus something on his arm." 

Sirius nodded eagerly. Finally an actual answer? He hoped so.  

"What he was showing him," the Headmaster continued, "was the Dark Mark. Oh, no, not the one they used to conjured after another successful raid," he said, seeing Sirius' expression. "You see, every Death Eater has a tattoo of the Dark Mark on his left forearm. The Dark Lord brands – "

Sirius pulled a face. It made him think of horses and cattle with a brand on their flank. 

"Yes, I think I can call it that. He brands it there himself when they have sworn their vows to him. The Dark Mark is then used as a signal; when Voldemort touches the Mark of any of his followers, the Marks of the others begin to burn and they know they are to come to his side. Now, after that fateful Halloween in 1981, when Harry defeated Voldemort, the Death Eater's Marks got fainter and eventually disappeared. That was one of the things that made some people – " Dumbledore smiled wryly " – believe Voldemort was truly dead. But last year, roughly since last summer, the Dark Mark has been coming back on at least two people." 

"Snape and Karkaroff were Death Eaters," Sirius whispered. He wanted to scream. This was impossible. It was bizarre. It was so enormously brilliant and complicated it almost couldn't be true. 

Dumbledore nodded. "Severus has been one of the few Death Eaters who turned back to our side before Voldemort disappeared, and he has been a great source of information. He informed me of his returning Mark almost the instant it happened, and this morning he reported that it was now as clear as it had been on the height of Voldemort's power." 

At the moment, Sirius couldn't care less about Snape's obscure tattoos. The man himself intrigued him more. Or irked him more, rather. "Snape turned back to our side?" he said incredulously. If there was something he could _not _picture Snape doing, it was that. "Why?" 

Dumbledore merely looked at him and Sirius gritted his teeth.

"Okay, then don't tell me," he said. 

"Severus Snape has been working for me at great personal risk," Dumbledore said calmly. "The least I can do to repay him is to keep that what he has told me in great confidence, confident." 

Sirius hated secrets. 

"Right," he said, impatiently waving his hand. "So his Mark is coming back, and it means Voldemort is getting stronger, right? What does that mean for Harry?" 

"It means," Dumbledore said, still impossible calm, "that there is a very big chance that Voldemort will soon attempt to harm Harry. So far, the boy has been protected by the spell activated by Lily's sacrifice of her life for him, but I'm afraid I do not know how much longer that spell will last, or if, and how, it can be broken. It is ancient magic, and not much is known about it." 

"Hmm," Sirius said, pensively chewing his lower lip. "And of course breaking the spell means Harry's in big trouble." 

"Bigger than he can most likely handle," Dumbledore confirmed. 

"Bugger," Sirius said once again. 

"Quite." 

Sirius didn't even hear the Headmaster agree with him; he was too much lost in thoughts. He finally said: "if I were Voldemort…" He silenced. Dumbledore waited patiently until Sirius spoke again. "If I were Voldemort, I would somehow use the Triwizard to get close to Harry. Because there are a lot of strangers in the school anyway, and one more or less won't get noticed."  

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "And apart from that – " he smiled, faintly amused " – if Voldemort has one flaw, it is that he is too fond of putting on a big show. Getting his full power back on the evening of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament is too good a change to miss, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmm. But of course, you have already taken precautions, haven't you? There's Moody, and – " he had to force himself to say it " – Snape. I do hope they keep an eye out as well." 

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "Alastor has told me that he would see it if anyone was trying to sneak into the castle using an Invisibility Cloak, or any kind of disguise for that matter, and so far he has seen no such thing."

"Seen?" Sirius echoed. "How can you simply see such a thing?" 

"A few months after you were send to prison, Alastor lost an eye in a duel with a few particularly persistent Death Eaters. He decided to substitute it with a magical eye which can see through everything," Dumbledore explained matter-of-factly. 

"Oh. Ah. Okay." _Everything? _a tiny voice in Sirius' head asked, but he gave that tiny voice a not-so-tiny kick and told it to shut up. "Well," he said, scratching his head. "Then I wouldn't know of anything else, actually." 

"You are not the only one. One would almost wish that Voldemort was operating relatively out in the open again, so that our spies could infiltrate his organisation." 

"Almost," Sirius smiled wryly. 

Dumbledore took a large golden watch from his pocket, studied it for a moment and got to his feet. "I'm afraid I must be going again. Other appointments that can't wait." He looked at the table. "Shall I leave this?" 

"Does it vanish in a few hours?" 

"Unfortunately, yes." 

"Then get rid of it," Sirius said, waving his hand as if he was waving a wand himself. Dumbledore took out his real wand, carefully handed Sirius the last few biscuits and made the table and chairs disappear again.

"Oh, by the way, Headmaster," Sirius said, suddenly reminded of something when he saw the long, thin wand. "Have you already talked to Olivander about a wand? I feel pretty helpless without one, actually." He felt pretty helpless asking for a wand too, come to think of it. 

"Yes," Dumbledore answered, "but I think it better if you take care of that this summer, when Harry is hopefully back at his family's house. Even though it will most likely not take longer than a day, I think it's better that you stay here." 

"Sure," Sirius said, although he felt a bit peeved that he still had to wait a few months. "No problem." 

Dumbledore nodded, patted Buckbeak on his beak and walked outside. A Thestral was tied to a small, deformed tree. Even though it regarded Sirius calmly, the sight of the animal was still unnerving. 

The Headmaster of Hogwarts shook Sirius' hand, then he lightly swung a leg over the Thestral's back. He gently pulled the reigns, which immediately slipped loose from the knot. The Thestral threw its head back and Sirius involuntary did a step back. 

"Perhaps I´ll see you later," Dumbledore said.

"Let's hope not, because that most likely means trouble," Sirius said dryly. Dumbledore prodded the Thestral with his heels and the animal spread it's dragonish wings and set of. Sirius imagined for a moment what it must look like for someone who couldn't see the Thestral – Dumbledore floating in mid-air, sitting as if on a horse, his silver beard floating behind him like a banner. 

Pretty soon, the Headmaster was only a tiny dot. Sirius could just see him descent again, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, then he disappeared.

* * * * * 

_Julius Caesar? Hello? The history of the Roman empire? Does that ring a bell? _

_Gee, and I thought you knew something. Or perhaps it's because of my name that I have an extra interest in this subject (I´ll hit you if your next letter contains the phrase "name? What about it?"!)._

_Excellent judge of your own character, by the way. Yes, you were/are annoying, but that's not always a bad thing. Especially in cases such as these – I know everything about how vague and avoiding Dumbledore can be, and he sometimes simply deserves being bugged._

_Moony._


	17. Kingsley Shacklebolt

**June 1995.**

_"Kingsley Shacklebolt´s been a real asset, too; he's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in __Tibet__." _

_* * * * *_

_No time for annoying or funny remarks right now; things have got serious. I mean _really_ serious. About a week ago, Dumbledore paid me a visit. He explained a few things to me, for example that all Death Eaters have the Dark Mark tattooed on their left arm. Did you know that? I surely didn't! But I think we can be fairly certain that it was that what Karkaroff showed dear Snivellus. Apparently the Dark Mark is getting dark again, which is, as I heard, a sign that The Ugly One (Voldemort, not Snape) is regaining power. (No funny remarks doesn't seem to work, sorry. Comments like these are sort of my trademark.) Dumbledore also told me he'll arrange a wand for me, but I have to wait a few more months for that. Oh well, what are a few months after more than thirteen years without a wand? _

_The next day I got a letter from Harry which increased my worries considerably. He told me that Ludo Bagman had been to the School to show the Triwizard champions what the Third Task would be about (hmm, he told me but I won't spoil it for you; it's not important anyway). Afterwards, Viktor Krum asked Harry if he could have a word with him. The two of them walked off to the edge of the __Forbidden__Forest__, where they encountered none other than Bartemius Crouch, talking, according to Harry, utter nonsense. _

_Can you imagine? Crouch? Talking nonsense? _

_Harry had the good sense to go and warn Dumbledore, but he was foolish enough to leave Krum behind to guard Crouch. When they got back, Krum had been Stunned and Crouch had disappeared to Merlin-knows-where. Moody went to look for him, but I haven't yet heard whether he's found him. Karkaroff, who was brought in later, was of course furious, saying that Dumbledore was trying to get rid of the Durmstrang champion, etc. Harry wrote to me the very next day. I told him off for walking to the __Forest__ with Krum when it was already evening, of course. _

_Then (yeah, sorry for the long letter) a few days later I got _another_ letter from Harry, in which he told me that he'd fallen asleep during Divination and he'd got a vision in which he saw Voldemort and Peter. He immediately went to Dumbledore to tell the Headmaster everything. Because of things that are too complicated and not important enough to explain, Harry also found out about the pleasant past of Snape and Karkaroff, and he was kind enough to repeat it all for me. Incidentally, Dumbledore _also_ send me a letter with a detailed account of what had happened. He thinks Harry got that vision because of some kind of connection with Voldemort. I for me don't know what to think anymore. We don't know what to expect, where the danger is coming from or even _when_ it is coming. Ironically enough, life was easier with Voldemort and his supporters running rampant out in the open. _

_I've warned Harry to concentrate on the Third task, because that's the most important right now. If he survives that one, we can worry about Voldemort later. Apart from that, I've got nothing to do but sit around and wait for the supposedly inevitable to show up – or not._

_Padfoot.___

_PS: your name? What about it? (Okay, hit me.)_

_* * * * * _

23 more days until the Third task.

The _Daily Prophet _had taken to counting the days again, just like they had done with the first two tasks and with the Quidditch World Cup. It was actually slightly annoying and completely unnecessary for Remus because he was counting the days anyway. 

23 more days until Harry had to take the final hurdle. 23 more days before life could go back to its relative peacefulness from before. 23 more days of nervous waiting. 

Remus laid Sirius' letter next to the newspaper. There was nothing about Crouch in the wizard newspaper – not that Remus had really expected anything. The last few stories about Harry had been so far from the truth that Remus had learned to take the _Daily Prophet _with a few grains of salt. Several grains, in fact. 

The bell rang. Remus hastily folded Sirius' letter and put it in his pocket before he went to open the door. 

There were two men outside. One was of Remus' height, with black hair and ditto robe. He was looking suspiciously around as if he didn't trust the quiet, peaceful situation at all. The other was a tall, black man. His head was bald, and he had a gold hoop in his ear. He held an elaborately decorated identification under Remus' nose.

"Mr Lupin?" he said in a rather low voice which somehow sounded familiar. "I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror. We're here because of the escaped prisoner Sirius Black. We would like a word with you; can we come in?" 

A few minutes later, Remus was fixing drinks for the two Aurors. Kingsley Shacklebolt was sitting at the kitchen table while the other one, who had introduced himself as Michael Nichols, was unobtrusively scanning the house. It made Remus think of Alastor Moody.

He gave Kingsley the requested orange juice, and his colleague got a simple glass of water. Remus made sure to keep his hand steady, even though he was inwardly trembling. He felt utterly relieved that he had pocketed Sirius' letter before he'd opened the door. Now he only hoped they weren't going to search his house, because he wasn't sure how he was going to explain away all the letters by Sirius he kept in a drawer of his desk.

Kingsley took a gulp of the orange juice, then he put the glass on the table. "Let me explain why we are here. I already told you we're here because of the escaped convict Black. I myself am in charge of the search for him, and my colleague Nichols – " he indicated the man, who nodded to Remus " – has been of some assistance in informing me that you used to be a close friend of Black." 

"You found that out only recently?" Remus drew up both his eyebrows. 

"No, but we had some difficulty discovering your whereabouts," Kingsley admitted. "We hadn't counted on the fact that we had to go… somewhere else to find your address."   

_You mean to the Werewolf Registry_, Remus thought. He crossed his arms. "And how can I help you?" 

Kingsley bowed forwards and crossed his arms as well, leaning on the table. "I'd hoped you could help us find Black. Would you mind coming with us to the Auror Headquarters and answer some questions?" 

Remus thought this over for a few moments. He'd rather not do it: what if he let something slip? On the other hand, not going would seem suspicious as well, and he didn't have a reason good enough to convince the two Aurors he couldn't come. So he nodded instead, hoping it wouldn't get too hard to deny any knowledge of Sirius' whereabouts. 

"Sure," he said. "You want me to come this instance?"

"If it's not too inconvenient," Kingsley said politely. There was still something annoyingly familiar in his way of talking and moving, but Remus couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

He put his cloak on and the three of them walked outside (Nichols put his glass with water back in the kitchen sink; he hadn't drunk from it). 

"We'll Apparate to the telephone box – you do know how to Apparate?" Kingsley wanted to know. Remus nodded. 

"We'll Apparate to the telephone box," the Auror repeated, "and go to the Atrium through that way." Remus nodded again to show he had understood. With a soft pop, the three of them Apparated to London. 

Remus had never been on the second level of the Ministry of Magic before. He usually got out on the fourth level, where the Registry was located and where Romulus worked. It looked roughly the same however: oak doors leading to a large room with cubicles. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle announced where they were: _Auror Headquarters_. Right next to it was a poster with the Holyhead Harpies, the only female Quidditch team. 

Kingsley lead Remus down the row of cubicles. Michael Nichols said goodbye halfway along the road and disappeared in a cubicle. Remus peered curiously in the cubicles as he went along: he'd always wanted to know what working as an Auror was like. It appeared it wasn't all that dangerous and stressful as Moody sometimes made it seem: the cubicles were decorated with posters of Quidditch teams and rock bands and photos of family and friends. Many Aurors were talking to one another instead of working – _or maybe it _is_ working they're doing_, Remus thought – and there was a buzz in the air from the voices. 

They finally reached the last cubicle. Remus looked inside, blinked, then did a double take. Instead of posters, the walls were covered with photo. And not just photos – everywhere he looked he saw Sirius, James, more Sirius – there was even a photo of the four friends. He stared at his sixteen-year old self smiling broadly back. 

"Where did you get all these photos?" he asked. 

"From Black's apartment in London," Kingsley explained. "After he was caught, the Aurors confiscated most of it since his family didn't want any of it. It has been stored away for twelve years, and it came in handy when he escaped." 

"Hmm," Remus answered. He indeed remembered someone asking if he wanted to sort out Sirius' stuff, but he had refused. For one thing, he had already been asked to sort out the Potter's possessions as well, and he had suspected that he would started throwing things out of the window if he had to go through Sirius' possessions. 

"Would you like something to drink?" Kingsley asked. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Tea please." 

The Auror poked his head out of the cubicle and called "can someone bring us tea?" down the line of cubicles. 

"I´ll do it!" a witch replied. 

"No, that's quite alright," Kingsley said somewhat hastily. Remus looked up from the photo with Sirius holding little Harry. 

"Really, I'm not going to trip or anything," the witch said, sounding rather indignantly. Kingsley sighed and resigned. He made an apologetic gesture to Remus, appeared to think something over, then he came standing next to Remus, who was still looking at the photographs. 

"Do you like them?" he asked. 

"There's stuff I don't remember having seen before," Remus said. He pointed at a photo of Sirius and James having fits of laughter over something. The happiness that radiated from it was infectious and he couldn't help smiling himself. "They must have made this one when I wasn't there, because I can't remember when this was." 

"It does make one sad, looking at all these pictures," Kingsley noted, looking around. "So much joy, so many smiling faces – such a horrible, abrupt ending." 

"Yeah," Remus said. His smile faded. "Yeah, it is." James and Lily waved at him, baby Harry on Lily's lap and Sirius behind them. Remus had made this photo himself in the Potter's garden. 

"Did someone ask for tea?" Remus turned around.

A witch was standing in the opening of the cubicle, a tea-tray wobbling precariously in her hands. Her hair was long and black, tied back in a ponytail. She was shorter than Remus, but somehow there was something in her that made him think of Sirius.

Kingsley hastily took the tray from her. "Yes, thanks Tonks," he said. 

Remus frowned. "Excuse me – Tonks? Have we met before?" 

"This is Remus Lupin, he used to be a friend of Black," Kingsley Shacklebolt introduced him. 

The witch laughed. "Don't think we've met before, but you've probably heard about me," she said. "I'm right over there." She pointed at one of the few photos that weren't moving, and Remus took a closer look. Sirius was sitting at a table, his hands folded in front of him and a broad smile on his face. There was a six-year old girl sitting next to him in the same pose and a nearly identical smile, but with her eyes almost adoringly glancing at Sirius. 

"My dad made that, early 1981," Tonks said. She had came to stand just behind Remus and looked over his shoulder. "Sirius was my mum's favourite cousin and he often came over to our house." She pulled up her shoulders, suddenly looking annoyed. "My mum gave these photos to the Ministry when he escaped from Azkaban. Said that he was apparently not much better than the rest of his family if he could betray his best friends and his baby Godson." 

"And what do you think?" Remus asked. Tonks shrugged.

"I dunno. He was pretty anti-Dark Wizard, and he hated his family," she said. "So it's a bit strange that he turned out to be working with You-Know-Who after all. On the other hand, I was only seven at the time, so what do I know?"  

"We're lucky, then, that the people who are looking for Black are the people who _do_ know," Kingsley cut in. Tonks pulled a face.

"He won't let me help," she explained to Remus. "Says I'm too young."

"Which you are," Kingsley said. "Get some more experience first, then we'll see. If we still need you by then, that is. Now, off you go."

"Yes sir," Tonks said, doing a mock-salute. She left the cubicle, waving goodbye to Remus. Kingsley shook his head. 

"She is so eager to help, but she ís too young," he said. 

"Hm," Remus answered. Then he said: "perhaps it's a bit… rude to ask, but have _we_ met before?" Kingsley laughed. 

"Yes, we have, but I hadn't thought you'd remember," he said. "I was three years above you at Hogwarts. When you were in second year, I told you off for making a mess of the common room." 

"You did?" Remus said, laughing with amazement. Now he thought about it… "Didn't you use to have a lot of hair, sorry for asking?" 

"Yes," Kingsley grinned. "But I shaved it off. A bald head is more useful for an Auror anyway." 

"I see." Remus looked around the cubicle. _Talking about a trip down memory lane_, he thought. 

"It is one of the reasons this case… fascinates me," Kingsley cut through Remus' thoughts. The Auror had picked up a few sheets of parchment and walked towards Remus. "They were such close friends, they were almost literally never without the other. What made Black betray his best friends?" 

"Hm," Remus replied vaguely. How was he going to explain the truth, _if_ he was going to tell it? He looked around again. Ironically enough, the photos with Wormtail on them were few and far between: Peter had been camera-shy, and he had usually been the photographer. 

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Now, as for the reason why we're here…"

"Oh, right." Remus sat down on a chair Kingsley had pulled up for him and Kingsley sat down opposite him. He placed a quill on one of the sheets of parchment. 

"June 1, 1995. Questioning of Remus Lupin," he said. When he caught Remus' look, he added: "don't worry, questioning sounds worse than it is." The quill obediently wrote everything down, then came to a quivering halt at the beginning of a new line. 

Kingsley bowed slightly forwards, his hands folded in front of him. "Now, Mr Lupin. Can you tell in short how long you've known Sirius Black?" 

"Err, we met on the Hogwarts Express," Remus said. "That was… the first of September, 1971. The last time I saw him was…" _April of this year_, he thought, but said: "I think it was October 1981 – no wait, of course not. The last time I saw him was the sixth of June, 1994." 

"Can you tell me what happened then?" 

Remus explained that he had been teaching at Hogwarts and how he had seen Sirius in the Shrieking Shack. Without going into too much detail, he told how he had 'saved' Harry, Ron, Hermione and Snape from the murderous madman Sirius. It was the version Dumbledore had given Fudge to save Remus' job and reputation, and as he was going along, Remus found it gradually easier to tell the story himself. The enchanted quill wrote everything down, including the "eh"s and "hm"s. 

"Did you have any idea Black was one of You-Know-Who's most trusted servants?" Kingsley wanted to know.

Remus shook his head. "I had absolutely no idea. Like she –" he gestured to the opening of the cubicle to indicate Tonks "– already said, he was against anything to do with Dark magic, and he hated his family, who were openly supporting V- You-Know-Who." _Openly supporting V- You-Know-Who_, the quill echoed_._ It made Remus chew his lower lip pensively. Peter had never been a supporter of Voldemort either – at least, he'd never shown it – but that was of course the point of being a traitor so the fact that Sirius had always claimed an aversion for Voldemort didn't say anything actually. Remus hoped that Kingsley would take him at his word and believe him. 

"What do you know about Black's current whereabouts?" was the next question. Remus looked at Kingsley. The Auror looked back, his expression black except for a slight curiosity. There was no hint of suspicious, just honesty. Remus decided to take a bold step. 

He stretched out his hand and took the quill from the parchment. It quivered in his hand: it felt like holding a protesting bird. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked. His heart was racing: he was gambling Sirius' life on the hope that Kingsley would hear him out.

"That depends," Kingsley said slowly. 

"If someone's life depended on it?" Remus asked, a slight note of urgency in his voice. 

"Who's life?" 

"Sirius' life," Remus said. Then, when he saw this didn't convince Kingsley, he added: "most likely Harry Potter's life as well." 

Kingsley appeared to think this over. Remus waited with baited breath; Harry had been his last card. Then Kingsley got to his feet and plucked the quill from Remus' fingers.  

"C'mon, let's get outside," he said. He uncharmed the quill, crumpled the piece of parchment and threw it in the bin. Remus followed him out of the cubicle. 

"I'm going to get some lunch," Kingsley told another Auror in the next cubicle. "If there's a memo or an owl for me, put it on my desk." 

They went upstairs with the elevators and the telephone box until they were standing on the street again.

"There's a small park not so far from here," Kingsley said. They walked towards it in silence. 

The park was already filled with people enjoying the fine weather. Children were running around on the grass, and a mother with two small children was feeding the ducks in the pond. However, when Remus took a closer look, he saw several people dressed in robes, and one man was reading a bunch of papers which on closer inspection turned out to be sheets of parchments. 

"Is this the Ministry's official park or something?" he asked. 

"Not official, but it is close to the Ministry. It's usually packed around lunchtime," Kingsley said. They started to walk slowly around the pond.

"You asked whether I could keep a secret," Kingsley said. "What kind of secret?" 

"Well, uhm, imagine that, hypothetically speaking, Sirius was innocent," Remus began. "What would you do?"

Kingsley's answer came immediately: "I would ask you if you had proof for that." 

"Then I'd tell you that my only witnesses are the escaped convict in question, three under-age wizards, a werewolf – and Peter Pettigrew." 

"I would ask you to explain yourself because Pettigrew is dead. Black murdered him."

"No, that's what Peter made everybody think," Remus said. Kingsley pulled up his eyebrows. 

"Explain." 

Remus told him the story of what had really happened in the Shrieking Shack, from Sirius pulling Ron into the Whomping Willow until the next day, when Snape had caused Remus to resign from his job. During all this, Kingsley's face didn't change expression, but he listened carefully. When Remus was done, he said: "let's say I believe you. Why would you want me to know all this?" 

"Because you're in charge of the Ministry's search for Sirius," Remus said. "Things will get easier if you're not constantly on his tail." 

"You want me to fool the Ministry by feeding them false information," Kingsley said cleverly.

"Well, yes, actually." 

"And what would I gain with that?" 

"You would keep an innocent man out of Azkaban – or from a worse fate," Remus answered. 

Kingsley looked at him, squinting his eyes against the bright sun. Instead of robes and a cloak, he wore pants and a long overcoat which made him look almost Muggle, save for a few slight differences – the long, thin wand-pocket in the coat for example, and the fact that he didn't have a zipper (too Muggle, even though Remus thought them quite useful).  

"Where is Black now?" he asked finally. 

"I can't tell you," Remus said honestly. "Not just yet. But he's been to Spain, Morocco, Egypt for a few hours, France and Belgium." To his surprise, Kingsley nodded as if he was merely confirming the Auror's suspicions.  

"And do you know where Pettigrew is?" 

"No," Remus had to admit. "But probably somewhere where You-Know-Who is." 

Kingsley pulled up an eyebrow again. "Another wizard who's raised from the death?" 

"Well, I don't even think he was really dead to begin with," Remus said. 

"Not dead? Next moment you're going to tell me he's planning to spectacularly rise from the not-death at the Triwizard Tournament," Kingsley said sceptically. Then, seeing Remus' expression: "oh never mind…" He pensively did a few steps, then stopped again. 

"I don't know what to think," he said. "For more than thirteen years everybody said it was Black who was the traitor. I believed it myself. Then you turn up – and you rightfully said yourself that, er, your… kind, uhm, isn't the most trusted in the wizard world – and you're telling me it's not like that and that Black's been in Azkaban, _innocent_, for twelve years!" 

Remus nodded but said nothing.

"And even more, that Peter Pettigrew's apparently still alive, just like You-Know-Who," Kingsley continued. 

"Trust me, I had a hard time believing it too," Remus said. "But it's true. I saw Peter with my own eyes, and I can tell if Sirius is lying or not, I know him well enough. And he wasn't lying when he told me he was innocent." 

"But the Wizengamot doesn't know him like that," Kingsley objected. "_I _don't know him like that. The Dementors don't even care. It's your word against… everybody else's really."

"I know," Remus sighed. 

The two of them were silent for a few minutes. Remus watched a few ducks quarrel about a breadcrust but he didn't really see them. Kingsley was right: how was he going to prove anything without giving too much away? 

"Would a letter be enough prove?" he asked finally.

"A letter by whom?" Kingsley said sceptically. "Peter Pettigrew explaining that he's not dead after all?" 

"No, a letter by Sirius explaining what really happened." 

"And how do I know you didn't fake that letter?" 

"You will have to trust me," Remus said simply. 

Kingsley thought this over for several long moments. Remus waited impatiently, hoping that he had made the right decision. Eventually, Kingsley said: "okay, send it to me. I'll read it, then I'll decide what to think of this." 

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but Kingsley cut him off: "I will of course be discreet about this. Not a word will go to my superiors or, God forbid, the Minister himself. Of course, if anything of this comes out we'll both be dead." 

"Sirius even worse than that," Remus muttered to himself. He nodded to Kingsley. "I'll ask him to write the letter." He didn't say it, but he hoped with all his might that he had done the right thing in trusting Kingsley Shacklebolt.

~*~

Only 19 days to go until the Third task. 

Just like the _Daily Prophet_, Sirius had took to counting the days, but he did it with a lot less cheerful anticipation. Only 19 days until Harry had to face Merlin-knew-what. Yes, a maze, but what was in it? He had asked Dumbledore, who had written back a list with the things the champions had to fight, but that hadn't reassured Sirius. Not at all, actually: it sounded terribly difficult for a boy of only fourteen. And even though Harry had written Sirius that he was practising hard and was looking forward to the third task with more confidence than he had done to the first two tasks, Sirius still felt worried. 

It didn't help much that he had no idea what Voldemort and Peter were up to, being virtually locked up in his cave as he was. Yes, Harry had had that vision a couple of weeks ago, but that didn't really calm Sirius' feeling of unrest. 

He was pacing the cave, thinking things over, but his thoughts appeared to go in circles, and he didn't come much further than 'something bad is going to happen'. 

He sat down on his bed and picked up Remus' letter, reading it again although he already knew what it said. He had written the long letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt two days ago but hadn't received a reply to it yet. He wasn't sure whether he liked Remus' decision to tell an Auror about him, but there was now nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could do about anything, actually. 

_Once again it comes down to waiting_, he thought, and he sighed. _Only 19 days to go…_

* * * * * 

_That has to be a record! The longest letter in Sirius-history, without a doubt! _

_A fascinating read – albeit an extremely worrying one. I'm afraid I have nothing helpful to say, save maybe for one little thing._

_Yesterday, two Aurors from the Ministry showed up on my doorstep. One of them introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror in charge of the search for you. I've been so bold as to tell him you're innocent, but he doesn't believe me (partly because I'm a werewolf, partly because it's a rather insane story and everybody's always believed the opposite, and probably partly because he knew us from Hogwarts – it turned out he was a few years above us). I sort of promised him you'd send him a letter explaining what had really happened. _PLEASE_ do that! You can send the letter to me and I'll forward it to Kingsley, but please send that letter! If we can convince him you're innocent, it'll be much easier to keep out of the Ministry's hands because he can feed them wrong information. At least, it seemed like a good idea at the time, so please consider it._

_Moony.___

_PS: well, Remus and Romulus are the founders of – oh Merlin, I'm not even going to bother._


	18. The Third Task

OK, I really need to learn how to write short chapters. I used to think that chapter 12 was so long because it had ELEVEN pages.

This one has sixteen.  
  
It's insane, it really is. There used to be a time when I would call a three-page chapter long. Now 3 pages is just enough for a Remus-bit, I usually try and make it four at least... The problem was that I hadn't kept in mind that the entire Third task is so long, so I kept just ading bits of my own (I was having loads of fun in Dumbledore's office - you'll read what I mean) until I realised ow many pages I had...   
Oh well, don't think YOU'll mind, but don't count on coming chapters, be it in this fict or other ficts, being this long!  
  
There is one swear-word in this chapter, but it's nothing worse than what's said in the first HP movie ("BLOODY brilliant", Ron? In front of MCGONAGALL??).   
Have fun!  
  
**June 24, 1995****.**  
_"Harry's nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those he had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief."  
  
I wrote the letter as you requested, although I do not feel comfortable with it. It sort of has this feel about it as if I'm placing big flashy arrows pointing to my cave all through the area, with signs saying 'follow this route and find Sirius Black!' But I suppose it's too late to do anything about it now. Of course, if this goes wrong, there'll be the Devil to pay – and quite literally in my case too. (Then again, I've never been really bad, so I can't see why anyone in their right mind would send me to hell, but that's probably an entirely different matter.)  
I enclosed the letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt (what a name! Surely I would have remembered him, but I can't figure out who he was), if you would be so kind as to forward it to him?  
Padfoot.  
PS: aah? _  
  
Before he opened his eyes and turned on his back to face the ceiling, Remus had already made up a new invention.   
It was a habit he sometimes indulged in; making up new machines. It would usually start with 'I wish I had a…', then he'd start imagining what a machine like that would have to be able to do (walk up a stairs, pick up the right book, take it from the shelf and walk downstairs to where Remus was sitting on the sofa, for example). Then he'd start envisioning what it would look like (it would of course need feet to walk, and little grippers to pick up the book) and even what material and colour he'd use (he figured little wooden duck-feet would be funny. And the grippers would be made of steel and be covered with some kind of soft material as to not hurt the books). And in the end it always remained a weird dream.  
The invention of this morning started off with something completely unrelated. He woke up, and the first thought in his mind was: _today's the Third Task in the Triwizard._ He felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness, and he wondered if Harry was feeling the same. _Probably, but most likely twenty times as much,_ he thought. How great it would be if he could actually see it instead of reading it in letters and the _Daily Prophet_. He could already see himself sitting on the wooden Quidditch stands, Padfoot next to him of course (if it was a dream, he might as well make it a good one), watching Harry win the Triwizard cup. _I wish I had a sort of big screen on my wall, or even on the ceiling above my bed, to watch it just as it happens_, he thought. And that was where the inventing took off.  
Of course, he'd read about tv's and computers. He had almost had to, in order to keep up with the Muggle side of his family, but it had always remained sort of vague and hard to understand. And besides, all those wires and buttons sounded terribly complicated. No, what Remus had in mind was much simpler: a sort of poster you could pin against the wall, and events you would want to see (Quidditch matches or something) would simply be played out for you. _Or even better: magical paint you could paint on the wall, which would make up the screen_, he thought excitedly. He wasn't quite sure how the images would get projected on the screen, but at the moment he was too taken with his new idea to concern himself with trivial matters such as that.   
He turned on his back and opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling, which was now blue because of the sunlight filtering through the blue curtains. _The ceiling would be the perfect size for such a screen_, he thought. _And you would be able to watch it while you're lying lazily on your back. I think I'll call it the 'see-screen', because that's what it is. _  
The _Daily Prophet_ fell with a thud on the doormat. Remus sighed. Time to get back to the mundane every-day life. He sat up, feeling slightly amazed and proud that he was still able to sit up from lying flat on his back without pushing himself up, and got out of bed.  
  
Thirty minutes of doing his usual morning routines later, he was standing in the hallway, staring at the _Daily Prophet_'s headline: _"HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS."_  
"Now what?" he said out loud. He walked towards the kitchen as he read the article, Monster on his heels.   
"_The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous_," Remus read to nobody in particular. "_'Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead._' Must be a very recent thing then. '_He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention.'_" Remus snorted. He read a few sentences in silence as he sat down at the table. Then –   
"_Potter can speak Parseltongue,_" he imitated Draco Malfoy's snobbish drawl. "_There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a duelling club and set a snake on another boy.'_ Oh yes, that's absolutely the sign that someone's a potential Dark Wizard. '_It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves –_ "  
Remus read this last bit again.  
"_But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power._" Remus growled at the paper. Oh, how badly he now wished he was still Malfoy's teacher so he could abuse his authority to get revenge. Dumbledore most likely wouldn't approve of it, but right now Remus couldn't care.   
"_A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation," "Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence,_" Remus read. He snorted again. This unnamed person didn't seem to realise he hadn't just dismissed Harry as a potentially dangerous wizard, but also pretty much the entire staff of Hogwarts – including Albus Dumbledore himself.   
"_Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament,"_ the article concluded. "_Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening._"   
Remus disdainfully folded the paper and threw it aside (and thus missing the rather interesting article about Cornelius Fudge's newest Sunior Undersecretary, a certain Dolores Umbridge). He fancied himself better acquainted with Harry than some reporter for a newspaper, and he was sure that using the Dark Arts was the last thing Harry would do to win the Tournament. Come to think of it, Remus wasn't even sure if Harry even _knew_ any curses or Dark spells, only how to defend himself against such spells.   
He glanced at the clock to see what time it was and sighed. _Nine more hours until the Third Task…_  
  
Sirius wished he knew what time it was.   
Dumbledore had owled him at what time the Third Task would begin (at seven the champions would go to the maze and fifteen minutes later the first champions – Cedric and Harry - would enter it) but he had no idea how long he had to wait. It was a pity he had never quite mastered seeing what time it was from the position of the sun, and unfortunately dogs never wore watches.   
Padfoot was pacing to and from the pillared entrance to Hogwarts in dog-form, much like he had done before the Second Task. He wasn't really feeling nervous, more annoyed that he was once again forced to take a passive role and learn everything that had happened second-hand.   
He had just laid down to stare depressedly at one of the winged boars on top of the pillars when he felt someone walk towards him (felt because the ground shook slightly with every step but he didn't really hear someone coming). He looked up and saw Hagrid walking towards him.   
Padfoot hastily scrambled to his paws and did a few steps back. He had no idea how much the Gamekeeper knew about him and he wasn't sure what Hagrid was going to do when face to face with the supposed traitor of the Potters._ But maybe he's just heading for Hogsmeade_, he thought hopefully.   
That hope was soon crushed when Hagrid headed straight for the big black dog and crouched down. "Sirius?"   
Padfoot gave the dog-version of an uncomfortable smile. _Hehe… I never realised Hagrid was this big… and potentially dangerous when he's angry… _  
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to take yeh ter my hut, so yeh'll be closer ter the Triwizard," Hagrid said. He straightened up again and patted his thigh. "C'mon."   
Padfoot followed Hagrid hesitantly, walking just behind the half-giant in a perfect imitation of a repentant dog. When, however, Hagrid hadn't said anything for a few minutes, Padfoot got more confident he wasn't going to be murdered for something he didn't do, and he sped up a little to trot next to the Gamekeeper.   
It was quite a strange experience to take an authorised walk on the Hogwarts grounds. There was enough to see: the Durmstrang ship in the Lake, the Beauxbaton carriage with the giant flying horses in a paddock nearby, and of course the castle itself. It was hard to miss; it dominated everything else as it was standing there on its cliff above the Lake, being reflected in the water.   
Padfoot was too busy looking around in the somewhat idle hope of seeing Harry somewhere that he didn't notice that Hagrid was sometimes glancing curiously at him. When they reached Hagrid's hut, the Gamekeeper opened the door and invited Padfoot in. Padfoot hopped up the three steps but stopped to sniff the air carefully. Then, scolding himself because he was getting too dog-like, he entered. His attention was immediately drawn by a low growling in one of the corners.   
A large grey wolfhound was growling menacingly at Padfoot. He couldn't help it; the hair on his neck reflexively got on end and he growled back.  
"Fang, cut it," Hagrid said. Both the dog and the Animagus started - Padfoot had quite forgotten Hagrid was there. Fang stopped growling but still looked suspiciously at Padfoot.   
"'t might be better if yeh change back ter yer…real form," Hagrid said. He closed the door, stomped to the table and sat down.   
Padfoot looked around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Walking around as Sirius in his cave with just Harry, Remus or Dumbledore around was fine, but it was something else when he was in an unfamiliar environment with someone he wasn't sure was friendly towards him. He took a deep breath and changed into Sirius.   
If Hagrid was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, the Gamekeeper gestured at a chair. "Take a seat."   
Sirius saw Fang staring at him, obviously trying to figure out how a dog could change into a man. He growled at the grey dog, who started. Sirius laughed and sat down.   
"Er, hi," he said, suddenly nervous. He started fidgeting with his frayed sleeve. "Look, I didn't betray J-James and Lily, okay?" he said hastily. "And I do not want to murder Harry. I'm innocent, it was all Peter's doing, he was really the one working for Voldemort – "   
Hagrid flinched but said nothing.  
" – and I only found out about two years ago, and I've been on the run since then. But Harry's my Godson, and I want to help him, so I've been hiding in this cave, and – why do I have the feeling Dumbledore's told you all this months ago?" Hagrid's smile had become progressively bigger during Sirius' speech.   
"Don't worry, Dumbledore explained it all ter me," he said, patting Sirius' shoulder in a painful way. "He wouldn't 'ave asked me ter take yeh here if I didn't knew anyway."   
Sirius felt rather stupid. It was something he could have thought of himself.   
"Uhm," he said. Out of embarrassment, he took a biscuit from a saucer on Hagrid's table, just to do something. The moment he took a bite, he wished he hadn't – the biscuit was nearly too hard to bite. He put it back on the table and hoped Hagrid's hadn't noticed.   
"So, what am I going to do now?"   
"It's another five hours and thirty minutes 'till the Task," Hagrid said. "I think yeh'd best stay here, and when it's time yeh can stay outside in me pumpkin patch. Yeh can just see teh Pitch from there."   
"Okay, fine with me." Sirius had hoped for a closer spot than Hagrid's pumpkin patch, but he knew he wasn't in a position to make demands, and the pumpkin patch was even closer than he had thought he would be this morning. If he was lucky, he could just see the castle from his cave, so just seeing the Quidditch pitch was a definite improvement.   
Shortly after, Hagrid went outside again to do his daily business, taking Fang with him and leaving Sirius to himself. He looked at the clock. Five hours and fifteen minutes. He wandered around in the two-room cottage for a bit until he had seen every inch of it. He sat down on the bed and bounced up and down, noticing enviously how much softer it was than his own dead-leaves-and-pine-needles bed. He glanced at the clock on the wall again and sighed. Those darn hands just didn't seem to move.  
When Hagrid returned, three hours later, Sirius was about to actually start _reading_ the books about fantastic beasts instead of just flipping the pages and looking at the pictures. He was so relieved to see the Gamekeeper, he jumped up to greet the relief of his boredom.   
"I brought yer some food, I need ter get back to the castle right away," Hagrid said. He laid a few packages and a flask on the table. "Everything alrigh'?"   
"Yes, fine," Sirius said, concealing the fact that he was extremely bored up until a minute ago. "Thanks for the food."   
Hagrid left again. Sirius unpacked his dinner and ate it slowly, making sure to take a long time. When he was finished, it was less than two hours until the Third Task.   
He was now starting to feel how nervous he was; he felt a sort of knot in his stomach and he didn't appear to be able to sit still. He started pacing the small living room, occasionally glancing at the clock with its agonisingly slow hands.   
When they crossed the one-hour line, Sirius started to look out of the window to see if there already were students walking towards the Quidditch pitch. But the grounds were deserted.   
Sirius gave an irritated sigh and did another few rounds of pacing. The hands of the clock suddenly sped up and before Sirius knew it, it was half past six. The sky was beginning to get darker. Sirius knew the Task began at seven o'clock, he knew what it was, what Harry had to face and how difficult it was, but he found out the wait was actually worse than any task imaginable.   
At five to seven, he saw the first few students walk past. His stomach did a back-flip and he scurried towards the door, for some reason running a hand through his hair to straighten it. He changed back into Padfoot, opened the door with his paws and slipped outside, into Hagrid's pumpkin patch.   
Hagrid's hut wasn't that close to the path towards the pitch, so Sirius could only see a vague outline of the students as they walked towards the stadium. He heard their excited chatter, a cheerful buzzing. He had taken position near the fence, looking through two beams.   
It only took a few minutes, then the grounds were quiet again save for the faint buzz that came from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Padfoot got to his feet and started pacing again, careful not to treat on the small pumpkin plants. He mentally went over the rules again.   
At about a quarter past seven Cedric Diggory and Harry would enter the maze. There were several things they had to face – a Boggart, a Sphinx, a gravity-reversal spell, a bog with Hinkypunks, something called a Blast-Ended Skrewt, a herd of Doxies and various other things – until they reached the centre, where the Triwizard Cup was waiting for them. The Cup was made into a Portkey which transported the winning champion out of the maze again, in front of the jury, which would then give the winner his or her prize. There was no time-limit, the Task could take the entire night if needed. Sirius hoped the champions would hurry up and take half an hour at most.   
He laid down on the slightly damp ground. At one point, he faintly heard a whistle: Cedric and Harry were in the maze. Two more whistles followed, then it got quiet. Padfoot stared at the sky, watching more and more stars appear as it got darker. He wondered what Buckbeak was doing, what Dumbledore was doing, what Remus was doing – and most importantly, what Harry was doing.  
It was already so dark that Sirius couldn't see the castle anymore, when the first red sparks shot up in the sky. They shot up like firework but suddenly seemed to freeze, remaining hanging in mid-air. Sirius knew red sparks meant a champion needed assistance and was out of the Tournament, but he didn't know who it was. He hoped it wasn't Harry.   
It seemed like only a short time later, when the second set of red sparks shot into the sky. There were now only two more champions in the running. Padfoot got to his paws again and started pacing.  
The chance of Harry still competing was rather slim. The other three champions were at least three years older than he was, and more experienced. On the other hand, he had faced things even an adult wizard wouldn't survive. Then again, the Triwizard Tournament wasn't exactly the same as fighting Voldemort…   
Sirius kept arguing with himself in this manner until it was too dark to see where he was walking. He laid down again, closed his eyes and waited…   
He surely must've fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again the stadium was buzzing louder than ever before. He even thought he could make out faint screaming. He scrambled to his paws and stared intently at where the sound was coming from, as if he could _will _his ears and eyes to be sharper. He started pacing again, furious that he was supposed to stay put while all he wanted was to run towards the pitch and see what was going on.   
Time passed by, the noise eventually got softer but never really disappeared. Padfoot sat down again but waited impatiently – for what, he didn't know.   
Half an hour later (although he didn't know that), he heard footsteps on the path towards Hagrid's house. _Finally_, he thought, and got to his paws. He started, however, when he saw who it was.  
Minerva McGonagall.   
She walked determinedly towards the pumpkin patch, looked around for a big dog and when she saw Padfoot she didn't lose time with long explanations. "The Headmaster needs you," she said and immediately turned on her heels, back towards the castle.  
Padfoot jumped over the fence, relieved that something was happening but at the same time extremely worried. He had to run a bit to catch up with McGonagall.  
"Harry is alright," she said when he was walking next to her. "He has won the Tournament, but the Cup was a Portkey to Merlin-knows-where. He disappeared and came back an hour later with a broken leg and Cedric Diggory's dead body in his arms."   
Padfoot nearly tripped over the stairs to the Entrance Hall when he heard this. McGonagall apparently choose to ignore this; she held the oak doors open for him, then she lead the way up the stairs, continuing her story. "Moody took him over from Albus and dragged him to his office – " She snorted with disapproval that someone could think his way was better than Albus Dumbledore's. " – where we found them half an hour later, Moody ready to kill Harry."   
They had reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Padfoot stared at McGonagall as she said the password. The information he had just got was a little too much to take in at once.   
The gargoyle leaped aside, showing the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office.  
"Professor Dumbledore will be with you shortly," McGonagall said. She barely took time to watch Padfoot step on the first steps of the staircase; she walked away again as soon as she saw he was going up.   
The staircase started spiralling upwards. As soon as the corridor was out of sight, Padfoot changed back into Sirius again. The sudden change from four to two feet nearly made him fall off the stairs, but he remained standing. He reached the oak door to Dumbledore's office and opened it. As he took the handle of the door, a feeling of comfort and safety washed over him. If he wasn't safe in Dumbledore's office, he wasn't safe anywhere.  
It was dark inside the circular room, but the moment Sirius stepped over the threshold lamps were magically lit and a fire appeared in the fireplace. He even thought he saw damp coming from a silver pot standing on a small table near a comfortable chair next to the fireplace. He walked towards it and lifted the lid to be sure, and discovered hot chocolate. The mere sight of it made his mouth water.   
He looked around the office. The walls were lined with books, as expected. Fawkes the phoenix was blinking sleepily at him, having just been woken up by Sirius' entrance. Piled on two desks were even more books, quills, a glass sphere, a lunascope and several silver instruments which tinkled softly. Apart from that, the office was silent, until –   
"Oh no, now what? Has something happened?"   
Sirius jumped and looked wildly around. There was nobody.   
"It's _him_!" a woman's voiced said shrilly.   
"Hush, Albus told us about him, hasn't he?" someone else said soothingly. "He's not here to cut us apart, that was an unfortunate accident."   
"Unfortunate accident, sure," someone else muttered darkly. "It took them weeks to repair her."   
Sirius was still looking around to see where the voices were coming from, when he suddenly noticed all the paintings on the walls were looking at him. He froze.   
It had happened sometimes, when he was younger, that his parents threw a big party for their well-to-do friends. His mother would dress up, his father would put on his best robes, the ones with the silver embroidery, and Sirius would look scornfully as he was once again kept upstairs with his house-elf nanny. But occasionally his parents made him come down, dressed in his best, to show him to their friends. The feeling of a few dozen of grown-ups staring at you as you walked into a room wearing uncomfortable, stiff clothes was worse enough, but it was next to nothing compared to being stared at by dozens of ex-Headmasters when you were looking far from your best. And were worrying about your Godson too.   
"At least you can get to your other portrait in the Ministry," the woman's voice spoke again. "I only got this portrait."   
"Don't be daft, Virginia," another portrait said. "You've got that portrait in the corridor on the fifth floor."  
"Oh, of course," Virginia said, blushing a little. "Well, I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm not going to wait until he takes out his knife." And with that, she disappeared.  
"Good riddance," another portrait muttered.   
Sirius took a few steps towards the portraits, to get a closer look. "There we are!" a cheerful old wizard said as Sirius got into a better view. "My, would you look at you!"  
"Oh, Phineas is going to love this," another wizard, wearing purple robes and holding a map, said.   
"Can we leave Phineas out of this?" another wizard complained loudly. He was painted holding a golden statue of a griffin. "The less we have to deal with that misanthropic old whiner, the better."   
"Watch who you're calling a misanthropic old whiner," came another voice from Sirius' left. "Last time I checked, _I _was still the one who died with a lot of money and heirs to inherit it after being Headmaster for twenty years, while _you_ were still the so-called 'brave' Gryffindor who thought griffins were fit for riding – and who was painfully proven wrong."  
"It works every time," the purple-robed wizard said cheerfully as the wizard with the griffin huffed. "Just mention his name and insult him and he'll show up. Hello Phineas. Look who's here. One of your heirs. Looks like he could do with a bit of money." The other paintings grinned.   
"Sounds like you could do with a bit of brains," Phineas muttered. He squinted his eyes a bit; from where he was hanging, Sirius was just standing out of view. "Who is it?"   
"Walk towards him, will you, dear?" an old witch said. Sirius reluctantly did a few steps towards Phineas Nigellus' painting. This was hardly the first time he encountered his great-great-grandfather's portrait. In fact, there had been a portrait of the ex-Headmaster in Sirius' room. His parents had hoped it would be an inspiring example for their eldest son, but the last thing Sirius had wanted was to be the second Slytherin Headmaster in the family.   
He pulled a face when Phineas came into view and he saw the green robes embroided with silver snakes and the Black crest. It took his ancestor a few moments longer to realise who he was looking at, then he pulled a face as well.   
"_This_ is what the noble house of Black has come to?!" he said. "This – this – I don't even know how to call it!" The other portraits grinned and winked at one another. "What's that you're wearing?"   
"An Azkaban uniform," Sirius said. He didn't feel like having a shouting-rally with a portrait, but he didn't feel like being polite either.   
"I think it's quite charming," a witch with white curls said, and giggled. "Really… noble." The other portraits burst into laughing.   
"Yes, not something I can say of _your _family members," Phineas said sharply. The witch immediately stopped laughing and shot an insulted glare at Phineas, who gave a disdainful smirk back. He then turned his attention back to Sirius.   
"Well, what are you doing here, boy?"   
"Dumbledore asked me to come here," Sirius answered. "At least, McGonagall said Dumbledore asked me, but she didn't say why."   
"Maybe something with the Triwizard," another wizard said.   
"Did she give any hints?" a fat wizard with blond curls said. "Minerva can be rather… evasive."   
"She said it had something to do with Moody, and one of the champions died," Sirius told him. There were gasps from the portraits.  
"Who died?" a witch wanted to know.  
"Cedric Diggory."  
Another witch gave a gasp and she disappeared out of sight.  
"Where's she going?" Sirius wanted to know.  
"She has a portrait in the Hufflepuff common room," the purple-robed wizard said. "But you said something about Moody?"   
"Yes, McGonagall said that Moody was about to kill Harry." As he was saying it, Sirius still couldn't really believe it.   
"Harry Potter?" a wizard with a black waist-length hair and beard said. "James' boy?"   
"Yes," Sirius confirmed, and swallowed. Hearing Harry being referred to as "James' boy" made it all the more painful that Sirius hadn't been able to do anything.   
"What's so important about _that_?" Phineas said. Then, seeing Sirius' glare: "what?"   
"Does anybody have a portrait in the Defence office?" the wizard in purple robes said loudly, thus avoiding an argument. There were mutters around the office of "no, sorry."   
"Nobody has a portrait there, Samuel," a wizard with a rather odd-looking hat on, said. "Moody's taken them all out at the beginning of this year. Said he didn't want anybody spying on him when he was working."   
"Dumbledore let him, because he's such a good friend of his," a witch explained to Sirius. "Who had his portrait there last year?"   
Another witch waved enthusiastically. "I did!"   
"I don't want to know," Sirius muttered. The witch looked positively indignant.   
"Why _not_?" she said. "He was by far the most charming Defence teacher we had in years."   
"That's not that difficult," said a wizard a bit sourly. "Who did we have last year again?"   
"Remus Lupin," the witch said, and giggled. Sirius rolled his eyes.   
"Oh, I remember!" the wizard said. "Wasn't he that werewolf-boy Albus accepted into Hogwarts a few years ago?"   
"That wasn't exactly a_ few _years ago," Sirius said. The portraits ignored him and kept on chatting.   
"Is it always this noisy?" Sirius asked the only person who wanted to listen, incidentally Phineas.  
"Unfortunately, yes," the ex-Headmaster said. "Until Dumbledore comes in and tells them all to shut up because he can't sleep or think."   
"Does that happen a lot?"   
"Once in a while. Not often enough, if you ask me."  
"Oh Phineas, don't be such a spoil-sport," the griffin-wizard said.   
"Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to come to his office?" Phineas asked Sirius loudly.   
"Shall I go and see if he's coming?" another wizard offered. Without waiting for consent, he hurried out of his portrait. He came back a few moments later. "They're two corridors away, I supposed it'll be a minute."   
To Sirius' surprise, the Headmasters started adjusting their robes and hair, making sure they looked their best on their portraits. Phineas merely snapped an invisible peck of dust off his robes and smirked at Sirius. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but then the door of the office opened and the portraits froze.   
Dumbledore helped Harry over the threshold, into the office. The moment Sirius saw Harry's white face and the mud on his robes and even in his hair, a rush of panic went through him. He rushed forward.  
"Harry, are you all right?" he said urgently. "I knew it – I knew something like this – what happened?" He helped Harry into a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. His hands shook, he couldn't help it. "What happened?" he asked more urgently. Harry was in no state to answer, so he directed this question to Dumbledore. The Headmaster walked towards the two of them and explained everything that had happened in Moody's office. Sirius never left Harry's side, although halfway through Dumbledore's story he nearly forgot his Godson was even there. The whole deal with Barty Crouch disguising himself as Moody was even weirder than Harry and Hermione rescuing Sirius with the aid of a Timeturner.   
While Dumbledore was near the end of his tale, Fawkes left his perch and flew towards Harry, landing on the boy's knee. Neither Dumbledore nor Sirius paid much attention to the bird, however.   
Dumbledore sat down behind his desk. Sirius was still standing behind the chair Harry was sitting on. He saw how Harry was looking down at Fawkes, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes.   
"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry," said Dumbledore. His tone was calm, but there was no denying the determination.   
"We can leave that till morning, can't we, Dumbledore?" said Sirius. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy had gone through so much this evening, it was simply unfair to question him now. "Let him have a sleep. Let him rest." Dumbledore, however, seemed to ignore Sirius. He leaned forward.   
"If I thought I could help you," he said gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."  
Fawkes let out one soft, quavering note. It seemed to hang in the air for a few moments, like the image of firework that's still visible after it's disappeared. At first, Sirius wanted to slap the bird for making a sound during such a frustrating moment – _why won't Dumbledore let him sleep? WHY must he always be right?_ – but then a warm, soothing feeling seemed to gulf through him. Not only Sirius got strengthened by the phoenix' song, Harry seemed to get a little extra strength as well.   
Harry took a deep breath and began to tell them, starting with how both Cedric and he had touched the Triwizard Cup. Not only Dumbledore and Sirius were listening; several times, Sirius saw a portrait widen his eyes with shock or amazement. Sirius listening as intently as they were; when Harry told them Wormtail had been there and that he had killed Cedric, Sirius almost involuntarily wanted to say something (although he didn't quite know what), but Dumbledore stopped him. However, when Harry reached the part where Wormtail cut Harry's arm to get some blood, both Dumbledore and he reacted.   
Sirius swore badly (he didn't see it, but behind his back, Phineas smirked). The Headmaster jumped to his feet, walked around the desk and asked Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry showed his Headmaster and his Godfather the place where his robes were torn and his skin was cut.   
"He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's," Harry told Dumbledore. "He said the protection my – my mother left in me – he'd have it too. And he was right – he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face."   
Sirius saw the tiniest of smiles flit over Dumbledore's face. But it was already gone and replaced by an expression of grave seriousness when the Headmaster had resumed his seat behind the desk.  
"Very well," he said, sitting down again. "Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please."  
Harry went on; he explained how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, and told them all he could remember of Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters. Sirius couldn't help but snort when he heard that Lucius Malfoy had been there. _Typically Malfoy_, he thought._ Always sucking up to safe his life._  
Harry then told the two of them how Voldemort had untied him and how he had forced him to duel. Sirius only broke the silence when Harry told them how the two wands had been connected with some kind of golden beam of light.   
"The wands connected?" he said. "Why?" He looked at Dumbledore. Not at all to his assurance, there was a rather worried look on the elder wizard's face.   
"_Priori Incantatem_," he muttered. He looked at Harry, again ignoring Sirius.  
"The Reverse Spell effect?" said Sirius sharply to get Dumbledore's attention again.  
"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. _This_ phoenix, in fact," he said, and nodded to Fawkes, who was still perched on Harry's knee.  
"My wand's feather came from Fawkes?" Harry said, amazed.  
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago."  
"So what happens when a wand meets its brother?" said Sirius. This was all unknown stuff to him, and he didn't like things he couldn't explain, especially not if it was something harmful to Harry.  
"They will not work properly against each other," explained Dumbledore. "If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle... a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed – in reverse. The most recent first... and then those which preceded it..." He looked at Harry, who nodded as if they had just had a conversation Sirius hadn't heard. "Which means," continued Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, "that some form of Cedric must have reappeared."  
Harry nodded again.  
"Diggory came back to life?" said Sirius sharply. He still didn't completely understand it. He was now painfully aware that there was a twelve-year lapse in his life in the wizard world. It felt as if he had to learn everything from scratch.  
"No spell can reawaken the dead," said Dumbledore almost sadly. "All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand... am I correct, Harry?"  
"He spoke to me," Harry said. His voice was trembling. "The... the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke."  
"An echo," said Dumbledore, "which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared... less recent victims of Voldemort's wand...." Sirius suddenly realised he didn't like where this conversation was going to. _Victims of Voldemort…_  
"An old man," Harry said, his voice still trembling. "Bertha Jorkins. And . . ."  
"Your parents?" said Dumbledore quietly.  
"Yes," said Harry.  
Just to hear him say that. A boy, only fourteen, who has just seen the return of the most evil wizard ever know. _His parents._ Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder even more tightly than before, but he didn't really realise he was doing it. He was staring straight ahead, out of the dark window, trying to keep those bloody tears out of his eyes.  
"The last murders the wand performed," said Dumbledore, continuing the conversation as if this was some kind of highly interesting theoretical discussion of a rare spell instead of the almost-resurrection of Harry's parents and Sirius' best friends. _Oh Merlin, I _am_ going to cry._ "In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows… what did they do?"  
Sirius had to let go of Harry's shoulder as the boy told them how his parents had appeared, how Cedric had made his last request and how Lily had helped him. He staggered backwards, for some reason unable to stay near Harry anymore. He felt an insane jealousy that Harry had _seen _them, if only an echo, that he had even talked to them. _He had talked to James… _He fell down into a chair and covered his face with his hands, his eyes burning with unshed tears.   
"I will say it again," Dumbledore broke the silence. "You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers." Sirius looked over his hands at the Headmaster, who was finally looking at him as well, finally acknowledging him. "You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it – and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace... Sirius, would you like to stay with him?"  
Sirius nodded and stood up. He changed back into Padfoot and guided Dumbledore and Harry to the hospital wing. He faintly noticed that Harry was walking as easily as ever before, but he didn't know how that came to be. He actually couldn't care either.  
There was already a group of people in the hospital wing when they entered. A short, slightly fat woman with violently red hair shrieked when she saw Harry.   
"Harry! Oh Harry!" Dumbledore, however, stopped her from running to the boy and hugging him.  
"Molly," he said, holding up a hand, "please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet." Padfoot nudged Harry's hand with his snout, and the boy gave a small smile.   
"If he would like you all to stay with him," Dumbledore continued, "you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."   
The people addressed – three redheads (one of them Ron, Padfoot noticed) and Hermione – kept an impressed silence. Madam Pomfrey, however, wasn't so easily silenced.  
"Headmaster," she said, staring at the great black dog, "may I ask what – ?"  
"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," said Dumbledore simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained." Sirius snorted softly. "Harry – I will wait while you get into bed. I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school." He left.  
Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed, Padfoot right behind them. On one of the other beds laid the real Alastor Moody in a deep sleep.   
"Is he okay?" Harry asked.  
"He'll be fine," said Madam Pomfrey reassuringly. She gave Harry a pair of pyjamas and pulled a screen around the bed so that he could change for bed. Once Padfoot had heard Harry climb in, he came around the screen, followed by Ron, Hermione and what he figured had to be Ron's mother and elder brother, although he couldn't for the life of him imagine why they were there.   
"I'm all right," Harry told Ron and Hermione. "Just tired."   
Padfoot took position under Harry's bed. He was just small enough to fit under it. He laid his head on his front paws, determined not to let anybody disturb Harry anymore.  
Madam Pomfrey's feet appeared.  
"You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," her voice said. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep."  
Apparently Harry had drunk it, because the weight pressing the mattress down shifted and became a long shape. Padfoot himself kept his eyes open, watchful, keeping an eye on everybody in the hospital wing.   
For about an hour, there was nothing to worry about. Ron, Hermione and the other two Weasleys (Sirius had realised after a while that Ron's mother was in fact Molly Weasley, one of his cousins, but this was hardly the time for a little family-get-together) were talking softly. Moody was sleeping soundly and, from what Padfoot could see, Harry wasn't moving either.  
Everybody looked up when they heard voices in the corridors. Padfoot raised his head. If he wasn't much mistaken, McGonagall was shouting about something. The mere thought was utterly ridiculous – McGonagall didn't _shout_ – but then again, so many unbelievable things had happened that this was actually rather normal.   
"They'll wake him if they don't shut up!" Molly Weasley hissed.   
"What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?" That was Bill, Ron's brother. Molly had got to her feet, Padfoot could see it from under the bed.  
"That's Fudge's voice," she whispered. "And that's Minerva McGonagall's, isn't it? But what are they arguing about?"  
Footsteps now joined the agitated voices. It was clear that they were walking towards the hospital wing because both the footsteps and the voices were getting louder.  
"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva –." Padfoot got to his paws. That was Cornelius Fudge. He had heard the man speak only a few times, but he'd recognise that voice everywhere.  
"You should never have brought it inside the castle!" yelled Professor McGonagall. "When Dumbledore finds out –"  
The door to the hospital wing burst open. From where Padfoot was standing, he could only see three pairs of feet and legs coming in; a pair with pinstriped trousers, McGonagall's navy blue robes and a pair of legs dressed in black trousers with buttons at the ankles. The pinstripes walked to Molly Weasley.  
"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded to know.  
"He's not here," said Molly sharply. "This is a hospital wing. Minister, don't you think you'd do better to –"  
The door opened again, and Dumbledore's ruby-red robes joined the group.   
"What has happened?" he said sharply. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you – I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch –"  
"There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she shrieked nearly hysterically. "The Minister has seen to that!"  
"When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape's voice joined the conversation, "he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch –" Padfoot already knew what had happened, but he was right now thinking about something completely unrelated, trivial and stupid: _why is Snape wearing buttons at his ankles?_  
"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall continued the conversation. Her voice sounded shrill and agitated, and her Scottish accent was clearer than usual. "I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but –"  
"My dear woman!" said Fudge angrily, "as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous –"  
But McGonagall overruled him – or overscreamed him. "The moment that – that thing entered the room," she screamed, "it swooped down on Crouch and – and –"  
A ringing silence filled the room. Everybody knew what had happened.  
"By all accounts, he is no loss!" stammered Fudge. "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths."  
"But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. His voice was calm, but Padfoot thought he heard a distinct… disappointment. "He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people."  
"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" said Fudge. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"  
"Lord Voldemort _was_ giving him instructions, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "Those peoples deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."  
Fudge began to sputter, not willing to believe this nonsense. "You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."  
"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," Dumbledore continued calmly, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort – learning of his continued existence – "  
Padfoot snorted. What a way to say Barty Crouch was still alive.  
" – from Bertha Jorkins – went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return."  
Again a stunned silence. Then –  
"See here, Dumbledore," said Fudge, sounding a bit hesitantly, "you – you can't seriously believe that You-Know-Who – back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders – but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore..."  
"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," said Dumbledore firmly. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office." A short silence. "I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."  
Judging from the movement of the pinstriped legs, Fudge looked at Harry, then back at Dumbledore. "You are – er – prepared to take Harry's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"   
Padfoot jumped to his paws and growled, the hair on his neck on end. If Fudge was going to insult Harry, he'd have to get past him first.  
"Certainly, I believe Harry," said Dumbledore coldly. "I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."  
"You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer," said Fudge disbelievingly, "and a boy who... well..."  
"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge," came Harry's voice suddenly.  
Several people jumped, Padfoot could see it. Fudge turned to Harry, then again to Dumbledore.  
"And if I have?" he said defiantly. "If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place –"  
"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" said Dumbledore coolly.  
"You admit that he has been having these pains, then?" said Fudge. "Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly – hallucinations?" it was more than clear what the Minister was suggesting: Harry was stark raving mad.  
"Listen to me, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. The red robed did a step towards the pinstripes. "Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous."  
The pinstriped did a small step back. "You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before. ..."  
"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouted. The weight on the mattress shifted as though Harry was trying to get out of bed, but Molly Weasley pushed him back. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy –"  
Snape's feet seemed to loose their balance for a moment.  
"Malfoy was cleared!" said Fudge sharply. "A very old family – donations to excellent causes –" Padfoot snorted.  
"Macnair!" Harry continued.  
"Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!"  
"Avery – Nott – Crabbe – Goyle –"  
"You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" said Fudge angrily. "You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heavens sake, Dumbledore –" the pinstripes turned to the red robed again. "The boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too – his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them – the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?"  
"You fool!" came McGonagall's voice. It was something Padfoot had wanted to say. "Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"   
"I see no evidence to the contrary!" shouted Fudge, equally angry. "It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!"  
"Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore repeated. "If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors –"  
This idea was the most idiotic of all things Fudge had heard this evening. "Preposterous!" he shouted again. "Remove the Dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the Dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"  
"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!" said Dumbledore. Once again someone took the words right out of Padfoot's (or rather Sirius') mouth. "They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the Dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!"  
Fudge appeared to be gasping for breath.   
"The second step you must take – and at once," Dumbledore continued, "is to send envoys to the giants."  
"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieked. "What madness is this?"  
"Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late," said Dumbledore, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!"  
"You – you cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped. "If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – end of my career –"  
"You are blinded," said Dumbledore, and the tone of his voice made Padfoot glad he wasn't standing in Fudge's shoes, "by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!" Padfoot nodded furiously. He carefully poked his head out from under the bed to actually see what was going on.  
"Your Dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any," Dumbledore continued, "and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now – take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!"  
"Insane," whispered Fudge. He backed away from Dumbledore. "Mad..."  
The was again a silence. Padfoot saw Madam Pomfrey at the foot end of Harry's bed, staring wide-eyed at the group in her hospital wing. McGonagall was looking daggers at Fudge, while Snape appeared to be listening intently, an expression of deep concentration on his face. The Weasleys and Hermione were looking at Fudge as well, just like Dumbledore, who radiated an aura of sheer power.  
"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," said Dumbledore calmly, "we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I – I shall act as I see fit."  
Fudge reacted as if Dumbledore had just declared war. "Now, see here, Dumbledore," he said threateningly. "I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me –"  
"The only one against whom I intend to work," said Dumbledore just as calmly as before, "is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."  
Fudge didn't think this over; he didn't appear to be able to think at all. He was too shocked to actually make a reasonable decision. He rocked back and fort on his feet and finally said: "he can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be..."  
To the surprise of pretty much everybody, Snape stepped forward, quickly unbuttoning the left sleeve of his robe and pulling it up. Padfoot hastily stepped forward to look.  
Snape revealed a pale lower arm, the veins clearly visible like blue lines. But that was not what drew their attention. It was a black tattoo, as clear and sharp as if it had just been made, of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.  
"There," the Potions Master said harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."  
Fudge gaped at Snape, who was looking back with a hard, cold stare. Even though he didn't say anything directly threatening, there was something ultimately defiant in the way he held his head. Fudge looked from Snape to Dumbledore to McGonagall and finally back to Dumbledore.   
"I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore," he said, "but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry." He made for the door. Snape deftly stepped out of the way, rolling his sleeve down again. Fudge had almost reached the door when he stopped. He turned around, strode back down the hospital wing and stopped at Harry's bed. He was lucky, actually, that he was standing on the other side of the bed than where Padfoot was standing, because the Animagus wasn't sure if he could resist biting Fudge's ankles.  
"Your winnings," Fudge said shortly. He took out a large bag of gold and dropped it on Harry's bedside table. Padfoot could hear the coins tinkle. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..." He glared at Harry, put his bowler hat back on his head and stomped out of the hospital wing. The moment he was gone, Dumbledore turned to the group.   
"There is work to be done," he said, suddenly businesslike. "Molly... am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?"  
"Of course you can," said Molly resolutely. "We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride."  
"Then I need to send a message to Arthur," said Dumbledore. "All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius."  
"I'll go to Dad," said Bill. He got to his feet. "I'll go now."  
"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry –"  
"Leave it to me," said Bill. He took little time to say good-bye, put on his cloak and walked out of the hospital wing. Dumbledore then turned to McGonagall.  
"Minerva," said Dumbledore, "I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also – if she will consent to come – Madame Maxime." Without a word, McGonagall nodded that she had understood and left the hospital wing. Next in line was Madam Pomfrey.  
"Poppy, would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us."  
"Very – very well," Madam Pomfrey stuttered, and she left as well.  
Dumbledore walked after her to the door, making sure that it was shut and that she was gone. Then he turned around and said: "and now, it is time for two of our number to recognise each other for what they are. Sirius... if you could resume your usual form."  
Padfoot looked reluctantly at Dumbledore, but there was no refusing. With a small sigh, he changed back into Sirius.  
The result was as he had thought. Molly Weasley let out a shriek and jumped back from Harry's bed. "Sirius Black!" she shrieked.  
"Mum, shut up!" Ron yelled to Sirius' immense relief. "It's okay!"  
Then Sirius looked at Snape. What little colour there usually was in the man's face had now left it. He was glaring at Sirius, but that was not unexpected and Sirius glared right back.  
"Him!" Snape snarled. "What is he doing here?"  
"He is here at my invitation," said Dumbledore sternly, looking at both of them, "as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other."  
Sirius snorted and Snape scowled. _I'll be dead before I trust an ex-Death Eater, especially if it's Snape_, Sirius thought.  
"I will settle, in the short term," said Dumbledore a bit impatiently, "for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any us."  
Snape glared at Sirius as if he was promising him slow and painful death if Sirius dared touch him. Sirius looked back with pretty much the same expression, except that Snape's death would be done with a long and – at the moment – rather blunt knife. But there was no resisting Dumbledore. Gritting his teeth, Sirius held out his hand just far enough for Snape to be able to reach it. With an expression as if he was doing it all because this was supposed to be good but he had serious doubts about it, Snape reached out as well. Their hands touched only for about two seconds, but it was enough to completely freak Sirius out. Snape's hand was dry, almost scaly, from all the times he had washed his hands before and after making a potion. It felt very unnatural and creepy and Sirius carefully wiped his hand on his frayed robe, although he did make sure Dumbledore didn't see it.  
"That will do to be going on with," the Headmaster said, stepping between them once more. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything." He looked at Sirius. "Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher – the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there." Sirius nodded. In his head, he had already called up a map of England and was planning the shortest route to everybody.

"You'll see me very soon. Harry," he said. "I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?"  
"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah . . . of course I do." The sight of Lily's eyes in James' face confused Sirius for a moment. He took his Godson's hand and squeezed it briefly. He then nodded to Dumbledore, changed back into Padfoot and literally ran out of the hospital wing, to his cave, to Buckbeak.   
  
"Okay Buckbeak, we're going to go for a ride – a flight – whatever," Sirius said, pulling Remus' rucksack from his bed. Dead leaves rained from it. He hung the rucksack on his back, folded up his blanket, then he swept the dead leaves out of his cave with a branch he broke from a tree outside. As he was coaxing the Hippogriff out of the cave, he looked back, and it suddenly didn't seem like his cave anymore.   
Buckbeak let out a soft shriek.  
"No, we won't come back," Sirius said shortly. He put the folded blanket over Buckbeak's back and climbed onto the Hippogriff. "Okay, first stop… let's make it Surrey, to Arabella. Maybe we can get a good scare out of the Dursleys as well. Off we go then." He prodded Buckbeak's flanks with his heels and the animal set off with his hind-legs, down south, to gather the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
_I passed the letter on, but I haven't had a reply yet. Maybe he needs time to think things over, so we can expect a letter in a few days.  
Incidentally, I know quite a few people who would gladly send you to hell. Snape's number 1. And number 2. And all the other people, actually (must have a multiple personality disorder).  
Moony.  
PS: oh, if you're so interested, I got various books on Roman mythology and history. Nice, old, dusty tomes for you to read this summer… won't you be having fun?_

PS: a request. Like I did with Prisoner of the Moon, the fict before this one, I'm going to do a "fun" chapter at the end. I'm thinking of doing an interview again, but this time a Sirius-one. So if you have any questions you'd like to ask him, you can send them in. Questions for Remus are welcome as well, he'll of course be present. 

Now, click that nice blue review-button, please!


	19. Reunion

To all the people who asked if I was going to "write" OotP as well – yes! After all, I can't let this wonderful opportunity to "write" a certain character's death pass, can I? ;)

As for this chapter: again some bad language, again said by Sirius. I think you'd better get used to it, because I have this sneaky feeling he's gonna say the same sort of things - and worse? - in OotP as well. He's not in the best of moods, you know, and people tend to use a lot of bad language when they're in a foul mood... ;)   
Only 8 pages this time, average length by now. ;) Enjoy.  
  
**End of June, 1995.**  
_"Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher – the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there."  
  
Things have gone bad. Am coming your way.  
Padfoot._  
  
Buckbeak landed inelegantly on the pavement of Wisteria Walk, his hoofs and talons clattering loudly on the concrete stones. It made Sirius flinch.  
"Not with so much noise!" he hissed. He slipped off the Hippogriff and made for some nearby bushes, making sure to keep his head low. All his efforts to avoid attention were, however, immediately undone by Buckbeak: the Hippogriff stomped after him with a strange mix of clicking hooves and talons. Sirius glared at the animal once they were safely in the shadows, but Buckbeak didn't seem affected by it.   
It was lucky, Sirius thought, that it was already evening, because it would mean there were less people on the street. Especially with this fine weather he had to be extra careful. Thankfully, most inhabitants of Little Winging stayed in their back garden and didn't start strolling the streets.   
It had been different in London. Sirius shuddered when he thought about it. He had come past the capital when flying to Surrey, and as he was asked to alert Mundungus Fletcher anyway, he had thought he might just as well fly down and do it right away. Of course, he hadn't realised that even a city with millions of inhabitants wasn't big enough to hide a Hippogriff. After a few days all his nerves had been on end out of pure stress, and he was absolutely sure he had been glimpsed by at least five people.   
To make things worse, he couldn't find Mundungus. Being the crook that he was, he moved from place to place ever so often to avoid being caught, and he didn't really advertise in the yellow pages either. Sirius was about to pack his things and move on again, with the idea that he'd just owl Dumbledore that Mundungus couldn't be found and that he'd have to send an owl instead if he really wanted Dung's help, when he suddenly saw Mundungus on a street corner of one of the more run-down parts of London, trying to sell tattered and most likely stolen Sneakoscopes.   
It hadn't taken Sirius long to convince Mundungus that he was innocent – in fact, one of the first things Dung asked was whether Sirius wanted a place to sleep, because he knew a few decent spots – and explain that Dumbledore needed his help and that the Order of the Phoenix was called to arms again. A few hours later he had already left London with an immense feeling of relief.   
And right now he was standing in Wisteria Walk, Little Winging, Surrey, trying to remember which house was Arabella Figg's again. He could only remember that it was somewhere in Wisteria Walk and that she was the only Squib there – the only one with some connection to the magical world. But that didn't really help much, seeing as she hadn't exactly put signs in her front yard saying 'Here lives a Squib' and the street was too long to start knocking on every door to ask if Arabella was home.   
"Meow."   
Sirius looked down. A brown and black spotted cat was streaking affectionately past his legs, purring loudly.   
"Hey cat," Sirius said softly. "I'm a big black dog, you know. Really scary." The cat purred louder. Then it walked away, but after a few yards it looked back as if to see why Sirius wasn't coming along. Sirius looked at Buckbeak, who stared back. Then he shrugged and followed the cat.   
  
The cat lead them through a narrow alley behind the back gardens. Even Buckbeak kept as quiet as possible; they were now too close for comfort to the people living there. It even happened once that Sirius walked so close past a woman that he could see which book she was reading. The only thing hiding him from view was the tall fence.   
"Meow?" The cat had walked right to one of the last few houses. A tree standing in the back garden had grown so large its branches covered the alley as well. Sirius ducked and ran towards it, hiding in the shadows. Buckbeak followed, nearly hitting the branches with his wings.   
"And now?" Sirius whispered to the cat. It didn't even occur to him that it could be considered weird to be talking to a cat. The cat meowed again and sniffed a wooden door in the fence. Sirius obediently opened it and the cat slipped through it, leaving the man and the Hippogriff alone. After a few moments, it returned and meowed again. Getting the hint, Sirius followed the cat into the garden, Buckbeak on its heels.   
The tree which overshadowed the narrow alley had more room to grow wild here, and that was clearly visible. It looked as if it hadn't been pruned in a long time: branches were growing wild and a large part of the garden was being overshadowed. Sirius immediately took advantage of this and hid in the shadows again.   
Their feline guide joined the five other cats which were meowing hungrily at the backdoor. Sirius wondered what he was doing here; had the cat wanted to be polite by offering him cat food? He sincerely hoped that wasn't the case – rats weren't very tasty, granted, but cat food would be a new low for him.   
The back door opened and an old woman on tartan slippers walked out, three opened cans with cat food in her hand. Her legs were immediately assaulted by affectionate cats which all wanted to have food first.   
"No, no, just wait," Sirius heard her mutter. "There's enough for all of you, really. Now, where is Mr. Tibbles? I told him dinner would be ready at six!" She ladled food onto a plate. She was barely able to because the cats were practically eating from the cans. "He's probably at the Durlsey's again," she continued. "Bless him, he's so concerned, though Harry won't be back there in a few weeks."   
"Arabella," Sirius whispered. How the cat had know it was this house he was looking for, he had no idea. _Or maybe it has something to do with the huge Hippogriff on my tail_, he thought. It rather shocked him to see how old Arabella had got since he'd last seen her, thirteen years ago. He had known her as a middle-aged woman; old compared to his twenty-one year old self, but not like this, even though thirteen years had passed.   
The cat that had lead Sirius and Buckbeak here was now the only one left streaking past Arabella's legs. It ignored the food that was rapidly being eaten by the other cats; instead, it kept meowing, demanding Arabella's attention.   
"What is it?" she said, petting the animal. "Not hungry, are you?" The cat nudged her hand with its snout and trotted towards Sirius. Arabella followed the animal until she saw the two refugees. Her eyes widened.  
Sirius sheepishly raised his hand. "Eh… hi?"  
  
"I cannot believe it!" Arabella exclaimed. She put her cup with coffee down with a sharp tic. "You-know-who returned? And Harry has _seen_ it? How could Dumbledore let that happen?!"  
"He didn't really_ let _it happen," Sirius said. "Of course, he wouldn't let something like this happen, it just – did."   
They were sitting in Arabella's sitting room, Sirius on the sofa and Arabella in a comfortable chair. She got to her feet now, though, and peered out of the window.   
"Where is Mr. Tibbles?" she muttered irritably.  
"Eh, who is Mr. Tibbles, actually?" Sirius asked. Once again he inconspicuously tried to put a biscuit back on its saucer; Hagrid's snacks were too hard to bite, but Arabella's seemed at least two years out of date.   
"My cat," Arabella said as if this explained everything. "Speaking of cats, your… thing – "  
"Hippogriff."  
" – doesn't eat cats, does it?"  
"Euh, not anymore."   
Arabella glared at Sirius, then took to looking out of the window again. Sirius stood up and walked to the window as well, although he made sure to stay out of view.   
"But you understand everything I told you?" he said, taking her attention off the subject of cats. "About the Order?"  
"Yes, yes, of course," she said. "I will send Dumbledore a letter first thing tomorrow." Sirius was about to ask why she wouldn't send a letter right away, but then he remembered she'd have to use Muggle post instead of an owl. "I'll of course help the Order again."  
"Good." Sirius picked up his frayed coat and put it on. "I'd best be going then, I got more to do actually."   
"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" she said, but Sirius shook his head.  
"No, thanks."  
The two of them went outside. The cats had gone, except for the brown and black one that had guided Sirius to Arabella's house, earlier on the evening. Buckbeak looked from Arabella to Sirius, unsure what to do. Sirius gestured to him to keep quiet; nothing bad was going to happen.  
He had just coaxed Buckbeak out on the alley again, when Arabella said: "you're not going to fly away from here, are you?" Sirius looked around.  
Buckbeak's wings were already scraping against the fences along the alley and he hadn't even spread them. And besides that, it would be extremely stupid to take flight on a Hippogriff in the middle of a neighbourhood full of Muggles. He might as well ring a random doorbell and say "hi, I'm Sirius Black, come cash the reward on my head." In other words: bad idea.   
"Darn," he said. Arabella, however, had something else on her mind.  
"Oh, Mr. Tibbles, there you are!" she said. A big cat was walking leisurely towards them. It regarded Sirius coolly, then sat down to lick its paw.   
"Can we for a minute talk about something else but your cats?" Sirius hissed. "For example about how I'm supposed to get out of here?"  
"Well, you came through the air, didn't you?" she hissed back. "So just take the same way back."  
He snorted. _Easier said than done. Well, I might as well walk down this alley_, he thought._ And see how I can go from there._ He immediately put this thought into action, Buckbeak and Arabella on his tail. When he'd reached the end of the alley, he carefully peeked around the corners.   
No one.   
Walking tiptoe, with a finger on his lips to indicate absolute silence, he guided Buckbeak out of the alley again. The animal immediately spread its wings once there was room for them again, nearly knocking Arabella off her feet.   
"Sorry," Sirius whispered. He was looking frantically around to see if nobody was looking. He climbed on the Hippogriff and prodded Buckbeak with his heels. "Up, and fast please," he whispered. Buckbeak just kept in a shriek, spread his wings and jumped in the air, this time really knocking Arabella over. When he looked back over his shoulder, Sirius could see her lying on the ground, staring open-mouthed at the Hippogriff and the convict. She got smaller, smaller, smaller – then Little Winging disappeared.   
Sirius patted Buckbeak's neck. "To Derbyshire now," he said. "No more unknown people who may or may not know we're innocent. We're going to Remus. Finally."   
  
Remus leafed once again from the front page of the paper to the very last page, even though he already knew what it said. "Well, that's nice," he told Monster. "First the_ Daily Prophet_ is packed with ludicrous stories about the Triwizard which are completely untrue and uninteresting, and right at the moment when I want detailed information, they're not giving me any!"  
Monster calmly kept chewing his breadcrusts. It was obvious he couldn't care less.   
Remus spread the newspaper out on the table again. It was true, the only information about the Third Task was a small article announcing that Harry had won the Triwizard and the thousand Galleons that came with it. Apart from that, nothing. No information about who was in second, third or fourth place, no information about how long it had taken Harry to win – not even a melodramatic story about how proud Harry's parents would have been. Nothing.   
"Let's hope Sirius sends me a long letter telling all about it," he muttered. "And I hope it won't take him too long."  
There was a loud crash outside.   
Remus rushed to the window on the front side of the house to see what was happening. All he could see was a large grey wing sticking out of a nearby bush. The feathers were ruffled, and the first thing Remus thought was that a flying horse had perhaps crashed down. But then he couldn't for the life of him imagine what a flying horse was doing above his house.   
_Only one way to find out, really._ He went to the front door and walked outside.   
"Hello?" he said. "Everything alright?" He had barely said this when a hand was clamped over his mouth.  
"God, Moony, wake the whole neighbourhood, why don't you," Sirius said. "Be quiet!"   
Remus pulled Sirius' hand back. "Oh, right, like you didn't come down with the sound of a crashing aeroplane." Buckbeak emerged as well, looking disgruntled.   
"We've flown from Scotland to London to Surrey to Derbyshire in only a couple of days," Sirius said. "No wonder Buckbeak's tired. And when he's tired, his landing, err, isn't that graceful anymore."   
"But what are you doing here?" Remus asked.   
"Can we get inside first?" Sirius answered, looking nervously around.   
"Good idea."  
They left Buckbeak outside to find a place to sleep for himself, which the animal didn't minded at all, as long as he didn't have to fly anymore. As soon as he was inside, Sirius relaxed visibly. He finally didn't need to watch his back anymore.   
When they'd reached the kitchen, Remus turned around and said: "okay, what has happened? Tell me everything."  
"Everything? You got a few hours to spare then?"   
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like the _Daily Prophet_ didn't tell everything."  
"That's not surprising," Sirius scowled. "And I don't even know what they wrote."   
"That Harry won the Triwizard. That's it."   
"Well, that happened as well," said Sirius. "D' you want the long version or the condensed one?"   
"Give me the short version first." By now, Remus was leaning against the sink, his arms crossed in front of his chest, ready for anything. Sirius had sat down on the kitchen table. He was swinging his legs and was sitting hunched – he felt very tired.   
"Okay, short version," he said. "Er, Voldemort returned with the help of Barty Crouch Jr. who had been impersonating Moody all year long. The Triwizard cup was a Portkey to Voldemort. Harry and Cedric took it. Peter killed Cedric and used some of Harry's blood to resurrect Voldemort. Harry duelled Voldemort, came back to Hogwarts, fake Moody tried to kill him but was stopped by Dumbledore. And now Dumbledore is calling the Order together again, to once again fight Voldemort. That was the short version."   
Remus stared. Then he scratched his head. "Euh, come again?"   
"Voldemort returned – " Sirius began teasingly, then broke off. "You heard me. Dumbledore wanted me to gather the old crowd – at least, some members of it. The Phoenix has been reborn, to say it poetically. We're going to kick the Big Butt again. Once more we're going to try and squash the Snake. I don't know how else to say it."   
"But I thought Voldemort was dead?" Remus said. "Well, gone anyway."  
"Apparently not. He used an old charm to bring himself back to power again – something with bone of his father, blood of his enemy and flesh of his servant. The blood came from Harry, and, it's really disgusting actually, Peter cut off his hand." Both flinched.  
"Gross," Remus said. "He cut off his own hand? That must've taken some courage."  
"Gryffindor, eh?" Sirius shrugged. "I wish he'd cut off his head."   
"Yeah, but that wasn't in the formula," Remus muttered. He pensively plucked his eyebrow. "How did Harry escape anyway?"   
"He duelled with Voldemort, but something called Priori Incantatem happened and he was able to run off," Sirius explained shortly.  
"Really? Priori Incantatem?" Remus was impressed. "That must've been a rather amazing sight."  
"Am I the only one who doesn't immediately know what that is?" Sirius complained.   
"I bet Harry didn't know right away what it was," Remus said.  
"Harry's fourteen. Practically a baby. Of course he doesn't know it."  
"And you've missed twelve years, you're actually still twenty-three, of course you wouldn't know either."  
"Will you just stop being right and let me feel sorry for myself?" Sirius said, smiling a little.  
"Sure, go ahead." They were silent for a few moment, thinking this bad news over. The silence was eventually broken by a low rumbling from Sirius' stomach.  
"Oh, right," he said, glaring at Remus' grin. "I haven't really eaten in a few hours."   
"I'll make you something," Remus said. "Would you like mashed potatoes or pasta?"  
"Could I have a shower first?" Sirius answered, trying to run a hand through his hair but getting his fingers tangled. "I kind of stink. I can even smell it myself."  
"You can even take a_ bath_ if you want to." Remus gestured for Sirius to get upstairs. "This way."  
  
"You know, I don't think your clothes would fit me," Sirius said, nevertheless taking the old pair of pyjamas Remus offered him. "You're smaller than I am."  
"But you're thinner, so maybe that'll make up for it." Remus turned on the taps of the bath.   
"That's not very logical," Sirius noted.  
"Well, it's not as if someone will see you, besides me." Remus busied himself with towels and washcloths. "Have you eaten your chocolate yet?"  
"Yes mummy." Sirius obediently took a bite from the slab his friend had given him to temporarily stop his stomach from rumbling.   
Remus whacked Sirius on the head with the towel, then placed it on the laundry basket. "Look," he said, pointing. "Towel, washcloth, soap, shampoo, brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and shaving cream. You'd be able to manage, right?"   
"Well, it's been a while since I last used those, I don't know if I can still remember how to use them…" Sirius joked. Then, seeing Remus' expression: "yes, sure, I can manage. Now, did you say something about mashed potatoes?"   
"I get the hint," Remus smiled. "Get into that bath before it floods." Sirius had already turned his back towards him.   
Remus was about to leave when he looked back over his shoulder once more. Sirius was just pulling his shirt over his head, and the sight made Remus stop dead in his tracks.   
Sirius' shoulderblades stuck out, casting shadows over the row of bumps that made up his spine, going right from his neck to the end of his back. Sirius pulled his shirt off, revealing bony shoulders and thin arms. His long black hair fell over his back, covering it. It reached way down, to his pointed elbows. His hips stuck out, almost feminine. _Dear God, there is a skeleton standing in my bathroom,_ Remus thought, feeling a painful mix between horror and sorrow.  
"What are you staring at?" Sirius had turned around and glared at Remus. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, covering his clearly visible collarbones with his hands. He sounded defiantly. Remus noticed he could count his friend's ribs.   
"You," he said.   
"Well, go stare at me somewhere else," Sirius bit. He threw his frayed Azkaban shirt at Remus' head. "Shoo."   
Remus retreated, taking the shirt with him.   
  
Forty-five minutes later he was back upstairs again, knocking on the bathroom door. "Dinner's ready."   
Silence.  
Remus knocked again. "Sirius, are you alright?"   
"Ouch!" came Sirius' voice from inside.   
"Sirius?" Remus said. He listened intently. Then the door opened and Sirius appeared.   
He actually looked downright stupid. His hair was washed and untangled, his nails were clean for the first time in probably months – but he was wearing a blue-striped pyjama which was too short so it showed his ankles and wrists, and his cheeks were blotched with inexperiencedly applied shaving cream. His jaw was bleeding.  
"I bloody cut myself," he said. "And it _hurts_."   
"Apart from that, are you done?" Remus asked, peering inside. Sirius had left the bathroom fairly clean – if you didn't count the dirty towel hanging over the side of the bath and the water on the floor.  
"Almost. But I think I broke your brush." Sirius showed him the brush with long black knotted hairs in it. "Sorry. My hair was too tangled."   
"I'll buy myself a new one then," Remus said lightly.   
"And I can't get the hang of shaving," Sirius added, glaring at himself in the mirror.   
"Come here, I'll do it." Before Sirius could react, Remus had already pushed his friend down to sit on the reed laundry basket, which protested heavily but held Sirius nonetheless.   
"Ouch," Sirius said, especially when Remus pulled his head back. "Ouch. Ouch. Ouch."  
"Oh stop it, I haven't even begun yet." Remus turned on the tap with warm water and cleaned the razor. Sirius was leaning back, staring up at Remus, holding his head upside-down from where Remus was seeing him.  
"This is really humiliating," he said.  
"Yes, I quite enjoy it," Remus answered. Sirius flinched when Remus flicked the razor over his cheek, expertly wiping the shaving cream away.  
"Please don't cut me."  
"Sit still," Remus muttered. He took Sirius' long, wet hair in his left hand to get more grip and continued shaving. Sirius' Adams apple moved nervously up and down when he swallowed. He didn't feel comfortable in such a vulnerable position, with his neck bared to such a sharp knife.   
"Don't tell Harry about this," he said difficulty, because his head was tilted backwards.  
"Be quiet or I'll cut your throat."  
"That would be a way to get money," Sirius said. Remus stopped shaving for a moment and looked his friend in the eyes.  
"You don't mean that," he said.  
"Well, yes. It would be a way to get money, actually. You'd simply do what a lot of people want to do. Snape would be happy."   
"Sirius, stop it. That's not funny."   
"Remus, it's called black humour. _Black_ humour, got it?"   
Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes, I get it. The most unfunny sort of humour there is though."  
"Well I got a really unfunny family." Sirius closed his eyes when Remus pulled his head farther back to be able to shave under his nose. "Don't cut my nose off," he muttered.  
"Keep talking and I'll cut your lips off as well," Remus muttered back.  
"Was that Lupin humour?"  
"No, a serious threat. Shut up."   
Sirius finally shut up, allowing Remus to finish in peace. He wiped the last bits of cream away with a wet towel, then he let go of Sirius' hair. "Done."   
Sirius got to his feet, rubbing his face with his hands. "It feels so strange," he said. He looked in the mirror. "Oh no."  
"Oh no what?"  
"My face." Sirius stared. "I got a naked face now."   
Remus rolled his eyes again. "That lack of food has affected your brain," he said. "Get downstairs. We'll have dinner and then I'll kick you to bed. This day has been going on too long now."   
  
Half an hour later, Remus had made up a bed for Sirius in his study. They wished each other a good night, then Remus went to his own room. Sirius laid down on the bed and pulled the covers over himself, but he couldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling.  
_This bed is so strangely soft_, he thought. _How can anyone sleep in this?_   
The moving trees outside cast shadows on the ceiling. The curtains here were white and rather thin. Light from outside came through it and Sirius could dimly see the outline of the several bookcases and Remus' desk.   
He closed his eyes and pretended he was in his cave again, but the bed told him otherwise. He took to staring at the ceiling again. _Compared to the ceiling in my cave, this one's really white and boring. Compared to the ceiling my cell – _  
He abruptly turned on his right side and forced himself to think about something else. He fixed his eyes on the rows of books, trying to read the titles just to give himself something to do. The effort eventually tired his eyes and he closed them, finally falling asleep…  
  
Remus woke with a start. He had heard something, he was sure of it. He listened carefully, his ears moving without him really noticing.   
Nothing.   
He now realised he had to go to the bathroom. _Perhaps that woke me up_, he thought, although he had some doubts about it. He got out of bed and walked to the dark landing. It was completely silent there as well, he couldn't even hear his bare feet on the floor-covering. It was actually kind of spooky.  
When he came back from the bathroom, he stopped to listen at the door of his study. Apart from Sirius' breathing, everything was quiet there.   
He was about to walk into his room, his ears still turned to his study, to Sirius, when he suddenly heard a sharp intake of breath and an urgent, almost whispered "no!" It came so suddenly it made him jump. He turned around and peered into the darkness. There was nothing.   
He walked back again, careful this time. He wished he hadn't left his wand on his bedside table. When he came up to his study again, he heard a ragged breathing and a soft moaning coming from inside. Without thinking, he reached for the handle of the door, threw it open and hit the switch for the light. He squinted his eyes against the sharp light.   
Sirius had crawled back in a corner of his bed, his back against the wall. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, a bewildered look in his eyes. He held his hand before his face to block the light out and squinted his eyes as well. Apart from them, there was no one else in the room.  
"What's going on?" Remus asked. Sirius seemed to realise only now that his friend had come in, and he gave an utterly relieved sigh.   
"It's you," he said.   
"Yeah, it's me." Remus looked suspiciously at Sirius. "Why? Who did you think it was?"  
"I don't know," Sirius said hastily.   
"Sure you're alright?"  
"Sure," Sirius said. He gave a smile that wasn't really reassuring.  
"You know, I thought I heard you talk earlier," said Remus.  
"Really?" Sirius tried to sound interested. "What'd I say?"  
"You said 'no'."  
"Must've been reliving that handshake with Snape then." There was now a distinct defensive tone in Sirius' voice. Remus knew there was something strange going on, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was, and Sirius wasn't being helpful either.  
"I'll be going then," he said. "See you tomorrow." He gave on last suspicious look at Sirius, who pulled a comically broad smile that lasted two seconds, then he waved him away.   
  
The second time it happened, Remus was already standing next to his bed and he had instinctively grabbed his wand before his brain had fully realised what he was doing there. He rushed out of his room and threw the door to his study open.  
"You were talking again!" he said. He then remembered to turn the light on.   
It didn't look as if Sirius had moved. He was sitting in the exact same position, still in the corner of his bed, pressed against the wall as if he wanted to disappear in it. He was trying to calm his breath without having Remus noticing he was doing it.   
"Really?"   
"Yeah. This time you said 'get the f-ck away from me'. My guess is it wasn't Snape again."   
The silence seemed to go on for minutes. Then, hesitantly, Sirius said: "no." Just that one syllable.  
"Then who was it?"  
Sirius laughed bitterly. "Can't you guess?"   
The realisation hit Remus sharply. He leaned against a bookcase and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh. Err, have you been having these dreams, uh, often?"   
"Thirteen and a half year, Remus," Sirius snarled. "I've been having them for thirteen years and six months. I've lived them for twelve years, too."   
"Is there any way I can… help?"  
"What are you going to do? Jump in my head and conjure a Patronus?" Sirius sneered. "Or perhaps sit next to my bed and hold my hand until I sleep? Want to check for monsters under my bed perhaps?" Remus looked hurt. He genuinely wanted to help, Sirius realised.   
"Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. It's just… those things were pretty much the only beings I saw for years. No wonder I started dreaming about them. And in Azkaban, nobody comes in to tell you you're talking." He laughed mirthlessly. "They usually scream it at you."  
Remus had an idea. "C'mon, get up." He didn't wait for Sirius to get off his bed, but picked up his friend's pillow and walked out of the room. Sirius followed, curious despite himself.   
They ended up in Remus' room. "Look," Remus said. He pointed to his bed. "This is my bed. This is your side. This is my side." He threw Sirius' pillow at him.  
Sirius was so confused he nearly forgot to catch it. "What?"   
"You are having nightmares, and you want someone to tell you when you've been talking again," Remus said. "I don't want to run into your room every time it happens, I need my rest as well, so this is the best solution."   
"Sure about it?" Sirius wanted to know. Remus stopped making the bed.  
"Remember asking me not to tell Harry I shaved you?" he said.   
"Yeah."  
"As long as you don't tell him this."  
A broad grin appeared on Sirius' face. "Sounds an awful lot like blackmail."  
"Oh, just shut up and get into that bed."   
Sirius obediently climbed in. "Another really soft bed," he noted. Remus looked at him oddly but said nothing. He laid his wand on his bedside table again, got into bed as well and switched off the light. He pulled the cover over him, but Sirius pulled it back.   
"Oh no, we're not having a blanket-fight," he hissed, tugging the cover back.   
"But – " Sirius began.  
"No pillow-fights, no bouncing, and you stay on your side of the bed," Remus added.   
"But I'm really cold," Sirius said pathetically. Remus now noticed he had pulled a rather egotistically large part of the cover back.   
"Hm, sorry." He gave Sirius his share of the cover back. "I think we need two one-person covers."  
"Hmm." Sirius was getting sleepy again. "Hey Remus?" he said softly.  
"Hm?"  
What exactly are you gonna do when I'm having those dreams again, actually?"  
"Whack you on your head with my pillow," Remus said.  
"But you said no pillow-fights," Sirius muttered, smiling a little. He had his eyes now closed, he was nearly asleep.  
"Seeing as this is my bed, I can do what I want," Remus answered. Sirius didn't reply anymore. He was lying on his left side, facing Remus. He had his hands drawn up to his chest, clenched into fists. Remus couldn't see it, but as Sirius fell asleep, those hands relaxed, unclenched, like the rest of Sirius' muscles. Remus was already asleep when Sirius rolled on his back. In his sleep, a smile appeared on his face.

PS: to everybody thinking this is going to be slash: kindly read the author's note at the end of _Prisoner of the Moon_. Don't come whining to me. Thanks.


	20. The end of the beginning

The chapter before this one has caused some controversy because I had made Sirius and Remus sleep in the same bed. I shall say it again to comfort everybody who's worrying: THIS IS NOT GOING TO BE SLASH! HONESTLY! REALLY!

And just so you know: I made up that last scene in december 2003 and it has nothing to do with what other people have said or a review I have got or whatever. It's truly my own imagination…  
This chapter has eight pages. I'm brainwashed: I realised that I was counting the pages (nice, print preview, gives you such a nice overview of how many pages you've written exactly) and thinking: only six pages? Too short, it should have at least another two pages...   
Bah, I want to get back to the days when three pages was long... ;)   
Since those days are gone, I'll just have to give you eight pages, sadly. I hope that's ok with you, I somehow think it is...

Oh, and though it says "the end", it's not really the end: there'll be an interview with Sirius in two weeks time. If you have a question you'd really like to ask, you can of course. Just put it in your review. :)  
Enjoy!   
  
**Early July, 1995.**  
_"I say to you all, once again – in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust."_  
  
Remus wished he hadn't suggested Sirius sleeping in his bed.  
It weren't the nightmares, although Sirius still had them. After a few sleepless nights, Remus had learned to turn around and nudge Sirius while he was still sleeping, every time his friend started groaning and turning abruptly. It was, Remus had said, like fine-tuning a broken radio: give it a good whack and it works perfectly fine again. Even though Sirius wasn't exactly happy with being compared to a broken radio, he had to admit the somewhat harsh method worked.   
It wasn't Sirius tendency to snore either, nor the long black hairs Remus sometimes found. It wasn't even waking up with a pair of cold feet against your own warm ones. No, what really annoyed Remus was the fact that Sirius always woke up at dawn, couldn't fall asleep again, and started walking around the house.   
"I can't help it, it's become a habit," Sirius had said. "Dementors don't sleep, they just get more or less active. And that was always around dawn and sunset."   
It was the same this morning, a week after Sirius had arrived. Remus could hear his friend rummage about in the kitchen, making himself breakfast and talking animatedly to Monster. Once he'd got past the initial suspicion, Monster had taken a liking to Sirius He especially liked Sirius' way of tossing him up the stairs so he wouldn't have to walk – or, rather, bounce – all the way up anymore. And sure enough –  
"One Monster coming up!" Sirius called. Remus heard something bounce against the walls, and a few moments later the Puffskein walked into the room.   
"Hey, good morning," he said sleepily. "Did Sirius make you breakfast?" Monster purred.   
"Yeah, I know," Remus continued. "Time for me to get out of bed as well." He immediately put his words into action and got up. He got dressed, threw Sirius' socks in the laundry basket – he really needed to talk to Sirius about that – and walked downstairs, Monster bouncing just behind him.  
Sirius was in the kitchen, sitting at the table and reading the_ Daily Prophet_. He looked up when he heard Remus come in. "Mail's arrived," he said.   
"Ah, good." Remus picked up the two letters. Sirius watched as he opened the first letter. "This one's from Dumbledore," he said, reading it quickly.  
"What does he say?"   
"That the rest of the Order's ready too, and that we're basically ready to go," Remus summarised. "Oh, he also added a little about Harry."  
"And?"   
"That he's thoroughly shaken – not surprising, I think – but that he's recovering amazingly well. Apparently Harry can take a few blows."   
Sirius beamed as if it was all thanks to him. "Of course he can. James never gave up either."  
"Yeah, Snape would have to agree with that," Remus said, smiling. He opened the second envelope and took out a sheet of parchment. "Hey, Kingsley wrote back."   
"Really?" Sirius walked around the table to look over Remus' shoulder. "What'd he write?"   
"_'The letter you send me sounded genuine'_," Remus read aloud. "_'It also agrees with Tonks' disbelief in Black being guilty'_."  
"Tonks?" Sirius repeated. "Tonks who?"  
"Beat me," Remus said. "She works at the Ministry too, but we never got properly introduced. Anyway, he says he wants to see you."  
"Oh." Then, after a few seconds silence: "why?"  
"Probably to check if I'm not some nutcase who's making it all up, and who's faking your handwriting."   
"Oh, yes, that seems like the greatest thing to do," Sirius said sarcastically. "Hey, since it's so easy to copy someone's handwriting, d'you think Dumbledore will believe it if I wrote him a letter with Snape's handwriting, saying that he sadly drowned in the Lake?"  
"No, because if he drowned, he wouldn't be able to write that letter," Remus said absentmindedly while he was looking for a quill, ink and parchment.  
"Oh, right. Well, if I wrote he resigned because he couldn't stand being around all those pesky kids anymore?"   
"Dumbledore might believe it for as long as it takes him to get down to the dungeons and check," Remus muttered, scribbling a reply to Kingsley.  
"What're you writing?" Sirius wanted to know.   
"A letter."  
Sirius rolled his eyes but waited impatiently until Remus was finished. He folded the piece of parchment, walked outside and tied it to the paw of his owl. Sirius waited inside until Remus was back again, then he asked: "and?"  
"I wrote him I'll meet him tomorrow, there's a small park near the Ministry that's perfect."  
"I should've asked you what you put in that letter before you send it," Sirius groaned. "I suppose you expect me to come with you?"  
"Of course. That'd be the ultimate proof I'm not making things up."   
"Great," Sirius muttered darkly. "Just brilliant."  
"C'mon, you'll be Padfoot, of course, and I'm sure Kingsley can be trusted," Remus said soothingly.  
"I hope so, else it'll cost me my life."   
"I'm sure it'll be alright," Remus said. Then, changing the subject to avoid a childish 'is', 'is not' argument: "hey, something completely different; could you mind putting your socks in the laundry basket instead of just on the floor? It's getting a terrible mess this way."  
"Oh, okay," Sirius said. It seemed as if cleaning away dirty socks was a whole new concept to him.   
"Thanks. And by the way, what're you planning to do with that old robe of you?"   
"My uniform? No idea, actually." Sirius didn't wear it anymore; the day after he'd arrived at Remus' house, the two of them had gone shopping for clothes. Remus had been in quite a few strange situations, but he had to admit holding clothes up for the window of the store so that the big black dog outside could nod its head in approval was a new high – or low. Either way, he had noticed quite a few people looking oddly at him.   
"We can't just throw it away, it'd be suspicious," Remus now said. "Especially since it has your name on it and all."  
"Oh, wait! I tossed it somewhere in a corner here, because I was about to throw it away," Sirius suddenly remembered. He started looking around the kitchen. "But I can't find it."  
"What?" Remus started looking as well. "But I didn't throw it away either." The two of them stared at one another. They were thinking the same thing: who took the uniform away?  
"I'm sure I put it somewhere over here!" Sirius said. Without a word, Remus started walking around, scanning the floor and looking inside closets. Sirius watched his friend searching, cast a few hopeless looks around himself, then went to look in the living room just to give himself something to do.   
Remus was about to climb on a chair and look on top of the closets on the wall, even though he didn't think he'd find it there, when Sirius called: "found it!" Relieved, Remus walked into the living room.   
Sirius pointed under the sofa against the wall, near the fireplace. "Over here. But I think we'd better let it stay there."   
Remus bent down to look and laughed when he realised what he saw. Propped against the wall was Sirius' uniform, frayed and all. Breadcrumbs and pecks of dust were carefully stored in a fold, and a round hole was made in the middle. Monster had made a nest of it.   
"It's actually rather cute," Sirius commented, looking under the sofa as well.   
"I knew he had a nest under here," Remus said, "because it's warm, next to the fireplace. But this surprises me as well."  
"He must've dragged it all the way here."  
"Yeah. Funny, he never made nests out of my clothes."  
"But then you never throw clothes on the floor," Sirius said, straightening up again.   
"That's true." Remus got up as well. "Like you said, we better leave it alone. We don't know what else to do with it anyway. Now, is there anything interesting in the _Daily Prophet_?"   
"The Wigtown Wanderers lost to Puddlemere United," Sirius said as they walked into the kitchen. It was the begin of a long-winded discussion about Quidditch.   
  
The next morning, when Remus woke up, he immediately noticed something strange. There was something lying on his back.   
He had always liked to sleep on his stomach, his arms curled around his pillow, his legs outstretched so that his toes could just touch the foot end of the bed. It was something different, though, with something heavy on your back.  
He raised his head, and saw what he actually already suspected confirmed: Sirius. His friend was soundly asleep, using Remus as a pillow, his head between Remus' shoulderblades. It was rather endearing, really.   
Until it got annoying, that is. _Fortunately_, Remus thought sleepily, not awake enough to think things over one more time, _I know just what to do_. He tensed his muscles, then he jerked his shoulder upwards, whacking Sirius in the bony cheek.   
"Kwuk," said Sirius.   
His head jerked upwards and his eyes flew open. He started rubbing his jaw, cursing. It wasn't until a few moments later, when he was fully awake, that he started glaring at Remus.  
"What'd you do that for?" he said.   
"Because you were using my back as your pillow," Remus said. He sat upright.   
"Gee, you could've just told me," Sirius huffed. He was still rubbing his painful jaw.   
"Sorry," Remus apologised. He got out of bed and opened the doors of his wardrobe. "By the way, what are you going to wear today?"  
Sirius stared. "Why?"  
"Well, you're a murdering madman," Remus smiled. "You have to look representative."  
"I thought I was a mad murderer?"  
"Isn't that the same?"  
"Well, no, actually," said Sirius. He sat up, gesturing enthusiastically. "You see, a mad murderer sounds more positive than a murdering madman."  
Remus frowned. "How so?"  
"Well, a murdering madman suggests someone who's mad all the time, but also murders, whereas a mad murderer sounds like somebody who murders, but is also off his rocker."  
"If you say so. I still don't see the difference," Remus said. He threw a black shirt towards Sirius. "Which one would you like to be?"  
"I think I want to be a mad murderer," Sirius said pensively. He picked up a pair of socks from the floor and got to his feet. "It sounds more… 'don't mess with me', if you catch my drift. Like, don't get on my wrong side, because I'm a murderer and I'm unhinged. Whereas murdering madman sounds like 'don't give me something sharp because I might kill somebody with it'. Mad murderer sounds more in control."  
Remus had pulled up both his eyebrows. "Right. Euh, whatever. I'll, eh, be downstairs, making breakfast. Oh, and those socks – " he pointed, " – go in the laundry basket." He left the room.  
Sirius dropped the socks on the floor and went to find some decent clothes to wear.   
  
The park was fuller than it had been the last time Remus had been there, about a month ago. A few children were playing soccer on the grass, mysteriously always missing the robed woman sitting on the grass reading a book (the ball did have a habit of suddenly curving off if it rolled straight at her, though). Two boys were trying their miniature boat in the duck pond. Three old men were sitting on a bench opposite Remus', talking animatedly.   
Remus was observing all this from a bench near the entrance of the park. There was nobody sitting next to him, even though the other benches were full – having a big black dog lying at your feet sometimes had its advantages.   
Padfoot was lying still, happy with just looking at the other people. It had taken them quite some time to reach the park: Padfoot couldn't Apparate and Remus didn't trust a Portkey, so they had had to take the train. Then they got kicked out of the Underground because Remus had tried to take an unleashed dog on it, so they had had to walk all the way. Actually, dogs without a leash weren't allowed in this park either, and Padfoot didn't even have a collar. Both were hoping nobody would notice this.   
Padfoot heard Remus say "ah!" and saw him get to his feet. He raised his head as well. Kingsley Shackebolt was leisurely walking across the park. He took the time to kick the ball, which had rolled on the pavement, back to the soccer-playing children, then looked at the boat sailing in the pond. If they hadn't know better, they'd say Kingsley was just enjoying a free afternoon.   
"C'mon," Remus said, gesturing for Padfoot to get up as if he was just an ordinary dog.   
Kingsley reached them. His face was expressionless, only a faint curiosity in his eyes as he looked at the black dog betrayed his feelings. Padfoot, still sitting on the ground, looked apprehensively back. He still wasn't so sure about this.   
Remus greeted the Auror and they shook hands. "I hope it wasn't too difficult to get away from the Ministry," he said.  
"Oh, no, not at all," Kingsley replied. "I just said I wanted to investigate a new clue as to Black's whereabouts." He smiled and Remus grinned as well, but Sirius didn't think it remotely funny – even though it was a joke he could've made himself.  
"I think we'd better go somewhere else, we're drawing attention," Kingsley noted. Remus and Padfoot now saw that the witch on the grass was looking interestedly at them, ignoring the ball zooming just over her head. Kingsley had already seen her looking, of course. Being an Auror, noticing small things like this had become a second nature to him.  
The three of them set off, Padfoot trotting on Remus' other side, careful not to get too close to Kingsley. Kingsley either didn't notice or didn't care – Sirius guessed the latter.   
"I read the letter you send me a few weeks ago," the Auror began. "I'm sorry it took me such a long time to reply. As you might understand, I had to think it over a few times."  
"Of course," Remus said. "That's okay."   
"Your stories are consistent, and both are the same and agree with each other," Kingsley continued. Meanwhile, he smiled – as if he wasn't talking about an escaped convict – at a young woman with an enthusiastic toddler who went straight for the ducks. Remus had a harder time acting casually. He was constantly aware of the Animagus trotting on his left side, and when Kingsley had made his remark about the stories being the same, he nearly blurted out: "well, what did you expect? Two different stories?"  
"However," Kingsley said carefully, "some parts were… quite unbelievable. The fact that Wormtail, as you call him, has been living as a rat for twelve years without revealing himself."  
"We never got that either," Remus said. Padfoot shook his head: he had got it only too well. Peter was simply too big a coward to risk being caught. And especially after more and more years passed, it was getting more difficult to suddenly come back. Not after his _heroic death_.  
Kingsley had seen Padfoot shake his head. "He doesn't agree with you," he said. It started both Remus and Padfoot.   
"What?" Remus said, alarmed, then he saw Kingsley looking at the dog. "Oh. He often doesn't agree with me, it's nothing new."  
"Perhaps it'd pay to hear what he has to say?" the Auror suggested. Remus frowned.  
"I hope not right here?"   
"No, there's a narrow street over there which is usually deserted at this time of the day," Kingsley said and pointed.   
Remus looked at Sirius. The Animagus was shaking his head again. _Bad idea_, this gesture clearly said. Remus decided to ignore this.  
"Come, Padfoot."  
The two humans set off, a reluctant black dog on their heels. Padfoot was mentally going over the things he would say to Remus, the names he would call his friend, once he had a human mouth again.   
They reached the street without incident. It was indeed empty, as Kingsley had said, safe for a line of parked cars.   
"Is there a porch somewhere, where we can hide?" Remus asked. Kingsley pointed to one, not too far away, and they walked towards it. Remus had to nudge Padfoot to step into the shadows.   
"I know you hate me for this," he said. Padfoot's glare told him this was only too true. "It's all for the best, really." Kingsley was watching interestedly, occasionally glancing along the street to see if nobody was coming.  
Padfoot gave Remus one more severe glare, then, sighing, crept as far back into the shadows as he could and changed back into Sirius.   
He noticed with a satisfied grin that Kingsley lost his balance for a second, as if he wanted to jump back but restrained himself at the last moment.   
"Yes, it really is me," Sirius said grimly.  
"Not so loud," hissed Remus. Hearing his friend's voice reminded Sirius of something else. He turned to Remus.  
"Oh, right," he said. "Remus, you are the most stupid, reckless, unthoughtful idiot I've ever encountered – and that includes myself – and if this insane action of yours puts me behind bars again, I'll escape again and murder you. This time for real."  
"So, you admit it then," Kingsley cut in before Remus could answer.  
"Well, yeah, of course," Sirius said lightly. "No point in denying, is there? Everybody knows I escaped from Azkaban. But – " he continued pointedly "– I didn't commit those murders, if that's what you mean."  
Remus was standing nervously next to his friend. He didn't want Sirius to ruin it, but all he could do was keep quiet. Sirius wasn't helped with constant interruptions.   
Kingsley was observing Sirius. His expression was rather curious than suspicious. He finally broke the silence: "what spell did Pettigrew use to blow up the street?"   
"Expelliarmus," answered Sirius at once. "If you aim Expelliarmus at the pavement, it blows up the street, if it's powerful enough. It was."   
There followed a long questioning. Kingsley fired quick questions at Sirius, who answered them matter-of-factly. Kingsley jumped from subject to subject, trying to catch Sirius off-guard, but he didn't fall for it. He also dodged the few trick-questions and the curveballs Kingsley threw him. Ten minutes into the questioning, Remus noticed both Kingsley and Sirius were smiling, grinning even.   
Intellectually, they were an even match. Sirius knew he was innocent, that he just had to prove that, and Kingsley tried his very best to get him to say otherwise. Both were trying to outsmart the other, and they enjoyed it immensely.   
After a few questions, Kingsley had already realised Sirius couldn't have done it. He answered too quickly, too confidently, to be lying. But he kept asking on, curious as to how far he could press it. It wasn't until Sirius started pointing out that he'd begun repeating questions that they stopped.  
"You should've asked a questioning under Veritaserum," he commented, finally relaxing.  
Sirius leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. He scowled. "No need for the very expensive Veritaserum when you've got over a dozen witnesses saying you're the murderer."   
"And you didn't even get a trial," Remus pointed out.  
"True," Sirius said sourly. "Thanks for reminding me."  
Kingsley was pensively staring at a spot on the wall. There was silence for a short time, then he said: "I'm trying to decide what to do now."  
"As long as it doesn't include an immediate run to the Ministry, to tell them you've found me – "Sirius began, but Kingsley silenced him with a gesture of his hand.  
"No, not that. But I'm not sure what else. I can't exactly go there, tell them I've found you and that I'm convinced you're innocent either. They'd listen just long enough to hear where you are, and then they'd shove me aside and tell me I'm getting too old for my job."  
"You could at least begin with telling them that you've found out that Sirius is anywhere but in England," Remus said. "I'll be willing to play the one who gave you that clue, if it must."  
"Tell them I went to, uh, Thailand," Sirius added. "I've always wanted to go there."  
You must have had a long time to think about this," Kingsley said.  
"No, we're just making this up as we go," Sirius replied lightly.   
Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes, we_ have _had a long time to think about this."   
"Okay, I'll pretend I know where you are, except that I'm wrong," Kingsley said. "Anything else?"  
Remus and Sirius looked at one another. "I can't think of anything at the moment," Remus said.  
"Me neither," Sirius agreed.   
"Then I'd better get back to the Ministry and start faking," said Kingsley. "Thailand, right?"  
"Yeah. And make it Tibet after that. I'm gonna climb mountains."  
The Auror and the convict shook hands. "I'll try and find out when I can tell you're innocent as soon as possible," Kingsley said. "Which shouldn't take that long, I suppose. As soon as these rumours about You-Know-Who have died out, I think."  
"Right," Sirius laughed uncomfortably.   
Kingsley said goodbye to Remus as well, promised them he'd keep in touch, then he walked away, to the Ministry of Magic. Remus and Sirius hid in the shadows a little longer.  
"D'you think we should've told him about the Order and Voldemort?" Sirius asked.  
"Maybe later," said Remus. "He's had enough to deal with now as it is anyway. I mean, he's just talked to a murdering madman."  
"Mad murderer."  
"Whatever. I'm already happy that he believes you're innocent. That's one burden off our shoulders."  
"What're we going to do now?" was Sirius' next question.   
Remus checked his watch. "I think we got an hour or so before we need to get back to the train station," he said.  
"Your fault for living in the middle of nowhere."  
"Hush. It's perfect for escaped convicts and Hippogriffs, so don't complain." Remus looked up and down the deserted street. "How about we go back to that park and spend the rest of the time there?"   
"Sounds fine with me." Sirius changed back into Padfoot, and the two of them trotted down the street to the park, to spend an hour sunbathing on the grass.  
  
Remus yawned as he unlocked the door. The hour he had spend relaxing in the warm sun had made him sleepy, and he had some difficulty just to keep his eyes open or think straight. Sirius was tired too, but not because he had been sunbathing. Quite the contrary: Padfoot had been playing soccer.   
The children had still been playing when they returned to the park. Remus had sat down on the grass, Padfoot next to him, and it hadn't been before long that the dog had wandered off to the children to play with the ball, which had greatly amused them. Padfoot didn't know the rules to soccer, but dogs weren't supposed to, and he had happily spend the rest of the hour pushing the ball in the wrong goal, or simply just running after it. It had been a while since he'd last stretched his legs like that, and he had been exhausted – but in a good way. Afterwards, Remus had had to sprinkle water from the pond over him to cool him down.   
"I could kill for something cool to drink," Sirius now muttered.  
"Give me five minutes and you won't have to kill," Remus replied. He opened the door and they got in. They went straight for the kitchen, when suddenly –   
"Remus?"   
Both froze. Sirius was staring round-eyed at Remus, who stared back. "My mother," he muttered. "Quick, Padfoot!" Sirius changed just in time; the door to the kitchen opened and Mrs Lupin appeared, drying her hands with a towel. She smiled when she saw her son.  
"Mum, what are you doing here?" Remus blurted out. It wasn't perhaps the most polite thing to say, but it was the first thing that he could think of.  
"I was visiting grandma Lupin, and decided that, seeing as how near I was to you, I thought I'd visit you as well," she said. "I let myself in, because you weren't home."  
"I was in London," he said. He mentally added: _note to self: don't give your parents a key to your house._  
"Remus, I didn't know you had a dog," his mother added, seeing Padfoot.  
"No, you wouldn't, because I've only had him for a week or so," Remus said. He was still recovering from the shock. He didn't dare think of what would have happened had his mother seen Sirius. _She'd probably scream first_, he thought, _then she'd probably try to strangle him for all he's supposed to have done._  
Padfoot let himself be petted by Mrs Lupin, then he trotted into the kitchen, his tail wagging.  
"Uh, yeah, we were actually going to get a drink," Remus said, scratching his head.   
"Of course, don't mind me," his mother said. Frowning a little (had he just asked permission to take something to drink in his own house?) he walked into the kitchen, his mother on his heels. Padfoot was lying on the cool tiles on the floor, but got up when he saw them come in.   
Remus poured himself cold orange juice and put a bowl of water on the floor for Padfoot. They drunk eagerly. Mrs Lupin had sat herself down on a chair at the table and looked at them drink.  
It wasn't until he had drunk more than half of the glass that Remus stopped. He sighed. "I needed that," he said. He sat down as well. "Sorry for the rude welcome earlier," he said. "You started me."  
"That's okay," she said. "Perhaps I should have warned you." She laid the towel on the table. Remus now noticed that the cups and plates they had used this morning were gone.  
"Did you do the dishes?" he said, blinking.   
"Well, yes. I decided I'd just as well make myself useful," she smiled.   
"Oh mum, you shouldn't have," Remus said, smiling nonetheless. "I can do them myself you know. Really."  
"Oh, that's a surprise," she said teasingly. "I must admit that I actually sorted out your laundry as well, and I tried to sweep the floor but your Puffskein kept getting in the way."  
"He likes sitting in front of the broom and being swept across the floor," Remus explained. "And you really shouldn't have bothered. I'm thirty-five, I can take care of myself!" His mother smiled but said nothing, as if she knew better but didn't want to make him feel bad.   
Remus looked over his shoulder to see what Padfoot was doing. The black dog was lying on the tiled floor. He seemed to ignore the two humans at the table completely.   
"You know, Remus," Mrs Lupin said suddenly. "I – I found something strange in your room."  
Remus turned abruptly back. His mother was fidgeting with the towel. Behind him, out of sight, Padfoot raised his head interestedly.  
"What?" Remus said.   
"You see," his mother continued carefully, "when I was sorting out your laundry, I noticed… there were two pairs of pyjama's."   
_Oh no_, Remus and Padfoot both thought.   
"And there was a pair of socks on the floor I'm sure weren't yours."  
Remus glared at Padfoot. _I told you to clean them up_, he telepathically tried to say. _Now we're in trouble._  
" – and I later noticed there were two plates and two cups in the sink," Mrs Lupin continued. "Remus, if there's anything… anything you'd like to tell me…"  
"What?" Remus repeated, confused.  
"The point is," his mother said, shyly but determinedly, "are you living with another man?"  
Silence.  
Remus stared.  
"Because if you are," Mrs Lupin ploughed on, "you shouldn't be ashamed. Your father and I would understand. And I've read about this, and there's nothing to be ashamed of, really. It's the nineteen-nineties after all."  
Padfoot snorted loudly, the dog's version of a hysterical laugh. This jerked Remus back to earth as well. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to say something, then his body remembered where his voice was, and he said: "wait a minute." He closed his mouth again.  
His mother was watching him nervously. It had been a shot in the dark, but it would explain a lot to her – for example why Remus had never had a girlfriend (that she knew of anyway).  
"Are you thinking I'm gay?" Remus asked finally. To his horror, his mother nodded.  
This was too much for Padfoot. He had got to his paws to see what was going on, but when he saw Mrs Lupin nod he collapsed in a fit of doggish giggles.   
Remus didn't know what to say. This was arguably one of the most embarrassing situations he had ever been in. Padfoot didn't really help either. He decided to get rid of that first.  
"Padfoot, get out," he said. It took him some effort and a few prods with his foot to get the dog over the threshold and into the garden, where it sat down, still grinning.  
"You know, it almost seemed as if that dog was laughing," Remus' mother commented.   
"He's too smart for his own good," Remus said gruffly. Then he remembered what was going on: "_muhum_!"  
"What, dearest?" she said, slightly taken aback by this sudden, rather childish, exclamation.  
"First of all, don't call me dearest," he said, "and secondly, I'm not gay."   
"I can call you dearest all I like, because you're my dearest eldest son – "  
"Your only eldest son, you mean."  
" – and, well, I thought, since I saw two sets of clothes, and you've – sorry that I'm talking about this – you've never had a girlfriend…"  
"But I have!"  
"Really?" she said, a bit surprised, much to Remus' annoyance. "When?"  
"A couple of months ago."  
"But why have you never introduced her to us?"  
Remus snorted. Oh yeah, he could just see it, his parents and Lova. He had this feeling his parents wouldn't like Lova's rather… bohemian lifestyle. "Because we broke up after a month or two. It didn't work out."  
"Oh, Remus," she said pityingly. "I'm sorry."   
"That's okay," he said. Then, simply to get the subject out of the way once and for all: "and there was this girl, a few years ago, when I went to Scotland. But that didn't work out either."  
"Poor dear," his mother said. She hugged him warmly, feeling immensely sorry for him.  
"Uh, thanks," he said. He allowed himself to be hugged for a few moments, then he said: "_now _do you believe I'm not attracted to men?"  
"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry I thought that."  
"No, it's fine, I'd have thought it myself too." They both smiled, Mrs Lupin utterly relieved that her son wasn't completely 'abnormal'.   
"But that still doesn't explain why there were two pyjama's," she said suddenly.   
"Err… can I get back to that later?" he said. "It's… a little too complicated to explain right now."   
"It's not anything dangerous or illegal, is it?" she said suspiciously. Remus forced himself to laugh.  
"No, of course not!" he lied. It satisfied his mother, however.  
"Good. I was worried for a moment."  
"When are you not worried about me?" he smiled. She laughed as well.  
"That's true," she said.   
  
Mrs Lupin stayed another half hour, in which she brought Remus up-to-date with the latest family-news, then she left. Remus immediately made for the garden. Padfoot was nosing around in the bushes but emerged when he saw Remus approach.   
"She's gone," Remus told his friend rather grumpily. Padfoot didn't waste time but changed directly into Sirius.  
"That was the most humiliating moment of my life," Remus complained before Sirius had a chance to speak. He shouldn't have said anything, however: the mere mention of the incident made Sirius burst into a hysterical laughter again. Remus waited until it had subsided, then he said sourly: "and of course you were thoroughly amused."  
"Of course," Sirius hiccoughed. "What did you tell her anyway?"  
"What do you think? No, wait, don't answer that, I don't want to know what you think."   
"I mean," Sirius said, wiping away tears, "this is the kind of embarrassment you only read about." Sirius laughed again. By now, it was getting infectious, and Remus couldn't help grinning a little himself.   
"But seriously," Sirius continued, then he had to pause to laugh again. "Sorry. What did you tell her?"  
"First of all that I'm not gay," Remus said. Sirius couldn't help it; he burst into laughing again. He held on to Remus for support, who was now laughing as well, although not as hysterically as Sirius.   
"Secondly," he said, "I didn't explain why there were two sets of everything, because I couldn't think of a convincing enough reason, and I couldn't say I was living with you either."  
"No, I suppose not," said Sirius breathlessly. His shoulders still shook with laughter. "Ah, what a day, what a day." He let out a giggle. "Sorry. Hey, if I ever see your mum again, remind me to thank her for this wonderfully amusing afternoon."   
And as he burst into laughing again, Remus felt very grateful as well. Grateful simply for the sun on his face, the scent of the garden, and Sirius laughing.  
  
**The end.**


	21. The Interview second part

Well, here it is, the interview chapter for Wanderings of the Wolf! As with the interview for Prisoner, this chapter is only "half" into the main story: they mention stuff from the main story in the interview, but they don't mention the interview in the main story. 't Would be too confusing, I think... The chapter's called The Interview; second part, because it's the second interview I did – the first one was for Prisoner of the Moon.   
There's a chapter-author's note at the end, and my next post will be a story-author's note, for Wanderings in general, and then... ah, holiday! Rest! Finally!  
But before that, this chapter. The quote's from _The Matrix_. Thanks to my friend Linda a.k.a. Pixiedragon for helping me out with making up questions, and thanks to Lisande, who send in a question as well, and who asked me to tell Remus something (you'll read what it was) a couple of months ago. I wonder whether she's remembered it...

Some questions are a bit... well, not suited for children, probably. As you will see, Remus and Sirius didn't like the questions that much... but hey, who cares? ;)

There's an author's note at the end, which is mainly just me talking about Wanderings.  
Review, please!  
  
**Summer 1995.**  
_"What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad."_  
  
The fabric of the hammock enclosed Sirius, much like a cocoon. He could only see a little bit of sky and the leaves of the tree above him. He had one bare foot stuck out so that he could swing the hammock. He was humming softly to himself, staring up at the leaves which were moving slightly in the soft wind.   
"Don't you wish this summer would last for ever and ever?" he asked Remus, who was sitting in the grass, leaning against one of the trees to which the hammock was tied.  
Remus looked up from his book and smiled, but said nothing. He checked his watch again for about the twentieth time that hour.  
"And?" Sirius asked.   
"Any minute now," Remus said.   
Sure enough, right at that moment, a girl crashed into Remus' blueberry bushes and disappeared from sight.  
"Oh no," Remus sighed. He scrambled quickly to his feet. "Stay there," he told Sirius, then he went to pick up the girl. Sirius stayed behind. He had sat up in the hammock, curiously looking at what was going on. They had been waiting for this.   
Just like last year, a letter had arrived through the mail, again with a curiously unfamiliar stamp. The request was the same: would they be so kind as to give an interview? This time, however, she had included Sirius as well. Sirius had been fascinated by the letter, even more so when Remus had told him what had happened last year. He was the one who had convinced Remus to accept it; if truth be told, he didn't really believe Remus' story about her knowing everything. He wanted to see for himself.   
Remus plucked the girl out of his garden. Apart from looking rather shaken and having leaves in her hair, she seemed alright. "Everything okay?" he asked nevertheless.  
"Yes, fine, thanks," she said, brushing the leaves from her hair. "Sorry about that. You've having too many people crashing into your garden already. Blasted Portkeys."  
"At least you're not on a Hippogriff," was Sirius' contribution to the conversation. She looked up, and a grin appeared on her face when she saw him.   
"Sirius!" she said. She waded out of the bushes to shake hands with him. "Hi, I'm Linda."  
"Sirius," Sirius said. "But you knew that already."  
"Yeah." She said it in an off-hand sort of voice, as if it was completely normal to know somebody you'd never met before.   
"Hey, what about your Portkey?" Remus interrupted.  
"Oh, right, I need that to get back," Linda said. "It looks like a bit of string." She walked back and helped Remus find it. It was indeed a bit of string; ragged and knotted. Remus would've thrown it away if he hadn't known it was a Portkey. He gave it to Linda.   
"Thanks," she said.   
"Shall we get inside?" Remus suggested. "That would be safer for Sirius as well." The escaped convict was standing in broad daylight, visible for everybody.  
The three of them went inside. Remus couldn't help but notice that Linda was twitching with barely-concealed excitement when she stepped into the kitchen, much like Fay had done when she had visited Hogwarts. Sirius noticed it as well, and it amused him. This girl was a mystery, but a rather funny one.   
They pretty soon agreed on having tea and biscuits. As Remus filled the kettle, Linda was looking curiously around, smiling to herself.   
"Sirius, why don't you show her around?" Remus said.   
Sirius shrugged. "Sure." He beckoned to Linda. "C'mon." He walked into the living room, an excited Linda behind him. She was just keeping herself from bouncing, and Remus was again reminded of Fay. "This is the living room," he heard Sirius say. "And this is the hallway… and these are the stairs…" They went up the stairs and Remus could hear them walking on the second floor.   
Monster hopped over the threshold into the kitchen. He purred softly and bounced against Remus' ankle; his form of greeting.  
"Hey," Remus said. "We've got a visitor, so behave yourself." Monster purred again.  
Just when Remus poured the first cup of tea, Sirius and Linda came downstairs again. Linda was smiling broader than ever, but Sirius looked downright spooked.  
"We're back," Linda said as they came into the kitchen. Then she noticed the furball next to Remus. "Monster!" She scooped the little animal up from the ground.   
Even though Monster was usually suspicious of strangers, he simply could not resist being petted, and soon he was purring like mad. Sirius used this moment of distraction to walk up to Remus and hiss: "Remus, how does she know which toothbrush was mine? And how does she know about that painting in your attic even_ I_ don't know about?"   
"I told you," Remus said softly. "I don't know either."   
"It's creepy," Sirius commented.   
They sat down, Linda still petting Monster. Remus poured tea and distributed the biscuits. Sirius got two because "you still need to grow". Sirius immediately stuck one in his mouth, then asked, muffled, "can I put some music on?"   
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Remus reprimanded only half-heartedly. "And you know where to find records and the record player." Sirius enthusiastically got to his feet.  
"What would you like to hear?" he asked. Linda was still petting Monster and grinning at Sirius talking with his mouth full of biscuit, and she slightly jumped.   
"Oh, uh," she said. "Incantation, please." Remus and Sirius exchanged curious looks ("how does she know about_ that_?"), but Sirius walked into the living room nonetheless. From where they were sitting at the kitchen table, Remus and Linda could see him plop down on the floor and start looking enthusiastically through Remus' records. He looked like a teenager going through his favourite record albums.   
Linda voiced what Remus had also been thinking: "how old are we again?"   
"Thirty-five according to his birth certificate," Remus commented, "although I sometimes doubt it."  
"According to you I'm only twenty-three," Sirius said, looking up. "Seeing as I've missed twelve years and all." He turned his attention to the records again. "Ah!" He expertly slid the record out of its sleeve and put it on the record player. Music blasted into the room. Sirius turned it down, then walked into the kitchen again.  
"You know, it's strange," he said conversationally as he sat down. "I found out only a couple of days ago that I'm not supposed to hate the Russians anymore."  
"He's been doing some reading up on stuff," Remus explained. "And he completely missed the fall of the Berlin wall."  
"Yeah, what was that all about?" Sirius said, taking another biscuit. "I thought the Communists were the next worst thing after Voldemort?"   
"Well, apparently they're actually really nice," said Remus.   
"Weird," Sirius shrugged. "Hey, completely other subject: didn't we have an interview?"   
"Yes, good point," Linda said. She put her teacup down and reached inside her bag. She took out a piece of paper and smoothed it flat on the table. Sirius immediately snatched it away.   
"Hey, give that back!" She tried to take it back, but Sirius held it just out of her grasp.   
"There're some really nasty questions," he said, pulling a face.   
"Can I have it back please?" Linda demanded, holding out her hand.  
"Sure." Sirius gave the paper back. She frowned.  
"Typical Sirius behaviour," Remus assured her.   
"Right." She smoothed the paper flat again.   
That's really neat handwriting you got there," Sirius commented.  
Remus sighed. "Not this conversation again."  
"What?" Sirius said rather indignantly.   
"We had the same conversation last year," Remus said. "It's not written by her, but by a computer."   
"A what now?"   
Remus rolled his eyes. "I'll explain later, okay?"   
"Okay…"   
"Shall I begin?" Linda asked. "Or do you two want to have another off-the-wall conversation?"  
The frown on Sirius' face was now definitely worried, and Remus was feeling rather creeped out himself.   
"No," he said. "We'll do that interview instead…"   
"Okay," she said. "Now, as Sirius rightly noted, there are some really… weird questions. In my defence, I have to say that they weren't all made up by me, okay?" Remus and Sirius nodded. "Good. Now, most of the questions are for Sirius, but there are some for Remus as well. Shall I begin?"   
"I believe we're given you permission to begin about three times now," Sirius said.   
"Okay. The first question is for Sirius, from somebody named Lisande. She wants to know, uh… what, er, curse you'd use if this interview got too… nasty…" Linda ended the sentence uncertainly.  
"What curse I'd use?" Sirius asked. "On whom?"  
"Uh, me, I suppose," Linda said.   
"And how nasty is nasty?"   
"Really nasty," Remus cut in. He had some experience from last year as to how nasty it could get.   
"Well, supposing I had a wand," Sirius said, "which I don't, not that the moment anyway – but then again, I could always steal Remus' wand for a moment… I'm not sure what I'd use."  
"Really?" Linda said, utterly relieved.  
"Maybe _stupefy_ to begin with," Sirius said pensively. "Then perhaps some _tarantallegra_, though I don't know how those two combined would work out…" Linda paled.   
"_Rictusempra'_s always a laughing riot as well," Remus added.   
"Quite literally. Good one, Remus."   
"Yes, thank you," Linda cut in. "Let's be happy you don't have a wand – yet."   
"Really? Why?" said Sirius innocently. Linda gave him a mild glare.   
"Oh, by the way, Remus, she also asked me, a couple of months ago, to tell you that you're not getting old," she said.   
"I'm not getting old?" Remus repeated.  
"She said you simply can't."  
"But I was planning on getting really old," Remus objected.   
"Well, that's impossible, sorry. You'll just have to die young, I suppose."  
Sirius raised his hand. "Mad murderer, reporting for duty."  
"Oh shut up," Remus said, whacking his friend on the head. "What a ridiculous comment."  
"Which one?" Sirius wanted to know. "Mine or hers?"  
"They're both equally as ridiculous."  
"Hey!" Sirius and Linda said at the same time.  
"I'm offended in the name of the person who asked me to tell you this," Linda huffed.   
Remus rolled his eyes. "Can we please go on?" he asked.   
"Sure. Euh, next question's not from me either, but from a friend of mine, who's incidentally also called Linda." She cleared her throat. "Eh, she wants to know whether the rats you were eating reminded you of Peter Pettigrew."  
Sirius stared. "What kind of question is that?"  
"It's what it says on my list," Linda shrugged.  
"Well, no, they didn't, because _Peter_ was grey, and the rats I was eating – " Sirius shuddered at the memory "– were usually brown." He stuck another biscuit in his mouth to wipe the memory away.   
"What would you do if you knew you'd be dead a year from now?"  
"Can I do anything I want?" Sirius asked.   
"Eh, sure."  
"Okay. I'd… eh… I think I'd go on a trip around the world, and, um, I'd spend a lot of time with Harry, I think. Oh, and make sure my funeral was properly taken care of."  
"That's a really philosophical question," Remus noted.   
"Thanks," Linda said. She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I'd say it's something one should, eh, think about, once in a while. Uhm. Yeah. Okay, next question?"  
"Bring it on."  
"This one's again from my friend," she said. "When you were in Azkaban, did you ever think about the fact that your hair was even greasier than Snape's?"  
Remus and Sirius stared. "What?" Sirius said eventually.   
"Do I really have to repeat it?"   
"What kind of question is_ that_?" Sirius said. "No, I didn't. Are you sure that friend of yours isn't really you, except that you're pretending it's not you so that we wouldn't blame you for the questions you made up?"   
It took her a few moments to understand what he was saying, then she shook her head. "I swear, it really is another girl named Linda."   
"Right," said Sirius, frowning. He didn't really believe it. "Next question."   
"Is it nice to have Buckbeak as a roommate?"  
"Well, I have to admit I prefer Remus, uh, but I got used to having a Hippogriff as a roommate, as you put it." Silence. "Is it just me or did that sound really… gross?"  
Remus flinched. "It _was _just you. Now it isn't. Thanks, Sirius."   
"Shall I go on?" Linda asked, a grin on her face.  
"Yes, please."  
"Okay. Euh. Oh no." She turned red when she read the next question.  
"What is it?" both Remus and Sirius wanted to know.   
"Remember talking about nasty questions?" Linda asked.   
"Is it one of those "from my friend Linda"questions?" Remus asked in return.   
"No. I shamefully have to admit this was really made up by myself," Linda muttered.   
"What question is it?" was Sirius' question.   
"It's, uh, when was the last time you, er, had sex." Linda flinched, her face beet-red.   
"The last time I had sex?" Sirius said pensively, taking the question seriously. "You mean with someone else but Remus?" he added, earning him another whack from Remus.   
"Seriously!" Remus said.  
"I am Sirius, heu, serious – stop whacking!" Sirius said laughing. "No seriously – not a play on my name this time, really. The last time was… October 31, 1981."  
Remus stared. Then: "… I don't want to know."  
"Why not? There was nothing bad about it. Really."   
"That must've been quite a nasty shock for her, to find out that her boyfriend went on to murder thirteen people," Linda said.   
Sirius shrugged. "One night stand."   
Remus' head desperately sank forward until it hit the table with a thud. "Please kill me."  
"Why? It's so much fun to torture you," Sirius said meanly.   
"Thanks Sirius, I like you too," Remus muttered depressedly. "Can we please get on with the next question?"  
Linda reached out and patted his head. "There, there." Remus didn't move, but felt slightly better nonetheless.  
"Now, as for the next question – which is a normal one – " she continued. "What is the best thing of being out of Azkaban? Besides the really obvious being rid of the Dementors."  
"Brushing my teeth," Sirius said matter-of-factly. Remus raised his head and stared, just like Linda. "What? Is that so strange? Have you ever realised how completely wonderful that feeling is, just after you've brushed your teeth, that they're completely clean and so smooth that your tongue nearly slips when you run it over your teeth? And not to mention the taste of toothpaste! Especially mint is delicious."  
"Uh, right. If you say so," Linda said.   
"Another great thing is taking a warm shower," Sirius continued. "Basically the normal things in life are great. You know, sleeping in and only getting out of bed when it's already afternoon, and stuff like that."   
"The simple things in life," Remus said.  
"Exactly. We're getting quite philosophical today."  
"What, is that a new experience for you?" Remus joked. Sirius pulled a face but laughed nonetheless.   
"Next question!"  
"What is the first thing you're going to do when you're a free man again?"  
Sirius face lit up. "Oh! I'm going to go to London, walk into a bar, pick up a girl and have lots and lots of raunchy – "  
"Sirius," Remus sighed. "May I remind you that your thirty-five, and in dating-terms that stands for ugly, dirty old man."  
"I thought I was twenty-three?"  
"In the body of a way older man, yes."  
"Way to crush my dreams, Remus," Sirius said. "Anyway, since that is apparently impossible, I think I'll go and visit the Ministry and pull a long nose to all the Aurors and the Minister."  
"Which would put you behind bars again for insulting the Minister."  
"Then I'll plead insanity," said Sirius cheerfully.   
"Poor Kingsley Shacklebolt though," Linda said pensively. "For all he's been doing for you…"   
"Eh, yeah…" Sirius said slowly. He had forgotten for a moment that she knew stuff they'd never told her before. "Well, I guess I won't do it to Kingsley then." He and Remus exchanged somewhat worried glances.   
"Next question? This one's for Remus."  
"Ask away."  
"You said to Fay that you might go to Hogwarts, to check on her to see if she hadn't changed into a little Snape. Quite a few people want to know whether you were serious about that."  
Remus ignored Sirius' curious look and said: "first of all, it'll be another year before she starts at Hogwarts. And there's always a chance that I visit Hogwarts, and then I can always visit her, of course. And no doubt, seeing as she is a werewolf, some of the teachers – " Sirius looked about to say "Snape!" " – like _Dumbledore_, for example, will be reminded of me, and stuff, so I'll probably hear about it when she starts Hogwarts. Eh," he paused a moment. "Yeah. Something like that."  
His uncertain tone made Linda grin. "Well, we'll see what happens, won't we?" she said. "I got a few more two-option questions, if that's alright."  
"Sure," said Sirius.   
"I think it's best if you both answer it. Okay, Flying on Buckbeak or on a motorbike?"  
"Motorbike!" Sirius said instantly. "Definitely a motorbike." He and Linda turned to Remus.  
"I dunno," Remus said. "I've never flown on Buckbeak."  
"Speaking of Buckbeak – where is he now?" Linda asked.   
"Oh, hidden in that little bit of forest behind Remus' house," said Sirius carelessly. "Remus performed a concealing charm on him, so he won't be noticed."  
"Christmas or birthday?"  
"Hmm, Christmas," was Sirius' answer.  
"Yeah, me too."  
"Spending time with Snape or with the Dementors?"  
Sirius shuddered. "What a choice. Uh, Dementors. At least they don't talk."  
"Snape talks because you talk," Remus pointed out. "I'd rather spend time with Snape than with the Dementors."  
"What do you mean, Snape talks because I talk?"  
"Well, you start making sarcastic comments, then he makes sarcastic comments back, and then you talk back again, and it just never ends."  
Sirius huffed. "His fault for being so annoying."  
Remus decided it better not to say that Snape probably thought the same. Instead, he asked for the next question.  
"Rain or sunshine?"  
Remus picked rain, but Sirius voted for sunshine. "_Never_," he said, "camp in Scotland in autumn if you don't want to get wet. I've seen enough rain to last me a lifetime."  
"Burning your finger or having glass in your foot?"  
Both stared. "Er, glass in my foot, I suppose…" Sirius said hesitantly. "What a strange question." Remus agreed with him on both points.  
"Sirius, this is a question Remus had a lot of trouble with last year: boxers or briefs?"  
"Oh, boxers," Sirius said casually. Then, to Remus: "you had trouble with that?"  
"I'm not as exhibitionistic as you are," Remus said somewhat sourly.   
"In our third year, the Gryffindor girls actually had a bet going on about which one it was," Sirius told Linda. "They kept nagging me and it got so annoying I eventually told them I was wearing none at all."  
"Pity, really, that Sirius realised too late that the Great Hall wasn't perhaps the best place for such revelations," Remus said. "I'd never before seen McGonagall look so scandalised."  
"Yeah, she did give me a rather severe telling-off," Sirius said pensively. "It didn't even help that I told her I was joking."  
"She was probably peeved already because you always refused to wear the Gryffindor tie," Remus commented. "Not wearing underwear was probably one step too far."  
Well, it's really comfortable actually – or so I've heard," added Sirius hastily, seeing Remus' glare. "Heu, next question?"  
"One more," she said, checking her watch. "I need to get going soon. Okay, last question: Muggle or wizard transportation?"  
"Wizard," both said. "It just goes faster," Remus explained.   
"Although trains are nice to look out of the window," Sirius had to admit.   
"Was that everything?" Remus asked.  
"Yep." Linda packed her bag as Remus cleared the table. Sirius put the last three biscuits in his mouth and turned the music off. Then they went outside.  
"What time's your Portkey going?" Remus wanted to know.  
"In about five minutes," Linda said, looking at her watch again. "Oh, I almost took this with me." She gave Monster to Remus.   
"Puffskein-napper," Sirius said.   
"You better keep an eye on him," said Linda, nodding to the humming animal. "He's so tiny, he could get lost soon."  
"Oh, he always turns up when he's hungry," said Remus casually. "Like Sirius, really."  
"Why, thank you Remus," said Sirius. "Really nice."  
Linda checked her watch again. "Three more minutes. Now, goodbye Remus." She shook his hand. "And goodbye Sirius."   
Sirius had already stretched out his hand, but instead she suddenly hugged him.  
"Good luck," she said. "Good, good, good luck!"   
Sirius stood there a bit awkwardly, and he felt utterly relieved when she let go. He frowned. Unless he was very much mistaken, he saw that her eyes were wet.  
"Hey, how come Remus didn't get hugged?" he said. "I feel discriminated!" Remus frowned. "Discriminated in a positive way," Sirius added.   
"Well, if you insist," Linda said, rolling her eyes slightly. Before Remus knew what was going on, he had received a tight hug as well.   
"Now, take care, both of you," she said when she had let go. "Oh, and say hi to Tonks from me, if you see her."  
"How do you _know_?!" Remus burst out. "How?!"  
"I told you last year," she said, checking her watch again and taking the Portkey from her pocket.   
"That's not an explanation!" he said. "How come you know things about me even Sirius doesn't know? How can you know Sirius even though he's never met you before?"  
"I'm sorry, I really need to go," she said apologetically. "I don't have the time right now."  
"But – " Remus began. But she waved and suddenly disappeared with a crack.  
Sirius and Remus looked at one another. "That was weird."   
  
**The end (or: to be continued…)**

**Author's Note.**  
Phooey. That's done again. 118 pages (with Arial 10 font), in a year and 3 days – I started writing this on june 6, 2003. To compare: 'Remus Lupin' has 77 pages in about a year and a half, and 'Prisoner of the Moon' has 71 in slightly less than a year. Then again, that one has a lot of scenes directly from 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban', so I'm not sure whether that really counts for 71 pages…  
Either way, this fict is LONG! Looking back on it now, it seems rather amazing that I managed to churn out an average of about five and a half pages (118 pages in 21 chapters) every two weeks. And most chapters were way longer than that…I wonder how long the next one's going to be!  
  
Now, this fict was, according to me at least, interesting because of the rather large cast of original characters. Unfortunately for me, they all needed a name, and it was sometimes hard to come up with one. It seems I don't have JK Rowling's gift for names…  
A short overview:  
- Wulf Talbot. I wanted something wolf-like for his first name. Simply naming him 'Wolf' would be a bit too obvious. Then I remembered that there was a character named Wulf in Robin Hood; Prince of Thieves (yes, the things I get my names from!), and so I settled for Wulf. He got his last name from the main character from the classic movie The Wolf Man (which dates way back in 1941); Lawrence Stewart Talbot.   
- Vivian White. Ah, the poor healer who was so pestered by Wulf. She was named after the Lady in the Lake, from the Arthur-stories.   
- Lova – as I already explained in the author's note for 'Remus Lupin', her name means "female wolf".  
- Bill Hunter. His name is as random as his character. Don't know how I came up with it, but I couldn't call him 'that guy'. So first Bill, and then… oh, whatever, Hunter. Who cares anyway…  
- Ralph Lupin. Remus' very cute baby-nephew is, I have to admit, named after Ralph Fiennes. In my defence, I have to admit that their names are pronounced differently: Ralph Fiennes' name is pronounced as 'Rafe', whereas Ralph Lupin's name is pronounced as 'Ralf'. I'm not that obsessed… really.   
- Don't think I've mentioned it before, but Ralph's big sister Thirza is named after the character from Ben Hur (did I mention I get my names from strange places?).  
- The Healers Harvey, Fortune, Port and Wilkinson from St Mungo's. When I was writing that particular chapter, I was in the middle of my test weeks, and I was actually supposed to be learning about Buddhism. I decided that my fict was a little more important, so I was writing instead. I needed a name for a Healer, looked around my room, then my eye fell on the writer of my book about Buddhism: Peter Harvey. Then I needed three more names. I was utterly out of inspiration and actually wishing for an English telephone directory, when I noticed my book about the Titanic, with, in the back, a list of passengers… There was a family named Fortune in first class; a Charles and Mary Fortune with three daughters and a son. Sadly enough, both Mr Fortune and the son died; the women all survived. There also was a 3rd class steward named F. Port (one wonders – would he have known 3rd class stewardess Mrs Lucy Snape…? And 3rd class steward George Evans… Fascinating, such a passenger list. Incidentally, both Port and Lucy Snape survived. George Evans did not…). I cannot find Wilkinson again, but I assume he was somewhere on there as well.  
- Sabina and Ruth. They got their names from a baby-name book. There's not much to say about that, really.  
- Fay was indeed named after Morgan le Fay/Fey, as Remus notes. I had decided on that name long before a friend of mine (the by now probably infamous Linda, yes, the one from the interview) asked a part in this story, preferably as a werewolf. Since naming her Linda would have everybody thinking I wrote myself in, we agreed on having her being Fay (hence Fay's chocolatemilk addiction; Linda likes the drink almost too much…). Linda supplied me with a name for her parents and an appropriate last name – it's, sort of, the English translation of her typically Dutch name.  
- Michael Nichols, Kingsley's character. Stock character, stock name; Nichols is the name of a shop in London, I found it in a travel guide. Michael was just the first thing that came to mind.  
- Virginia and Samuel, two of the Hogwarts Headmasters. Again, whatever first came to mind…  
  
There are three main plotlines, which can easily be named by the names of three werewolves: Wulf, Lova and Fay. All three were beneficial for Remus', well, let's call it emotional development.  
Wulf's storyline was only a couple of weeks old when I started writing it. Near the end of 'Prisoner', I sat thinking: wouldn't it be cool if Remus would meet the werewolf who bit him? And thus Wulf was 'born'. I rather liked the old man; it's always fun to write sarcastic characters (ahem, Snape, anyone?). And though he didn't bring it that tactically, he did manage to press Remus with his nose on the facts: he's a werewolf, he's got to deal with that. I was sad to kill him off, but that was his fate. He got to be in a chapter more than I'd planned anyway…  
Next came Lova. Pretty much the oldest storyline, I made this one up in early 2003. I wanted to write romance again, and somehow Lova came up in my head. Apparently she'd decided that her short cameo in 'Remus Lupin' wasn't enough, and she wanted more screentime! I didn't mind, the character seemed fascinating enough to me to explore her some more.   
Lova is the storyline I had the most fun with, especially with the reviews! You didn't see it, but I was sometimes laughing when I read your reactions: at first, you were enthusiastic about her, "oh, she's so cool!", cheering the fact that Remus had a girlfriend. But gradually, you got cooler towards her, and in the end, she got several death threats. And yet she never changed her character or anything! It was very amusing for me to read it all, since I knew from the beginning what was going to happen!   
Despite her being not really nice to Remus, I like her as well. Like I said before, in another author's note, she reminds me a bit of Wulf, actually. They're both not that much concerned with what other people think about them. I wonder whether she'll pop up again – she's done it before, when I didn't expect it…   
And Fay was the last one (interesting, how they go from old man to young girl, isn't it?). The oldest bit of her storyline is, strangely enough, her and Remus little 'Fay? From Morgan Le Fey?'conversation. I hadn't really worked out that whole deal with Sabina and Ruth. Stupid, I realised later, because it was only when I started writing it, that I realised that it was actually rather weak and I couldn't really do anything with it. Those chapters were the hardest to write, because I simply didn't know what to do with it. The best parts are those with Fay, really. I had great fun writing about her visiting Hogwarts, and Snape. Not only was it plot-wise a great part, and rather amusing, but Linda's reaction when she read about her visiting Snape (her favourite character) made it worth it.   
The best thing that came from that storyline was the character of Fay (I'm sure she'll be back, somehow!) and the fact that I now got something of a plot for my next fict…   
And then there was Sirius. Poor Sirius. He sometimes got the worst of a chapter, seeing as he always brought up the rear, and I was drained writing Remus, so he got the boring, short description of what he was doing – or rather, what he wasn't doing. It only now occurred to me how immensely bored he must have been, sitting there all day waiting for something to happen! The only time he got into action was with the 3rd task, when Voldemort returned. Not exactly a happy occasion either. Thankfully enough, it reunited him with his best friend, and it's just fun to write their conversations. Sometimes, a scene ends up being twice as long because of their endless babbling. Pity, really, that with every chapter, I get closer to the end of 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'…   
Oh, and maybe you've noticed that Buckbeak mysteriously disappeared at the end of the story: he had flown Sirius to Remus, then he never got mentioned again until the interview. That's simply because I don't really like Buckbeak, so I forgot about him… sorry Buckbeak-lovers!  
  
I recently reread all three ficts (out of order – first 'Prisoner', then the second half of 'Wanderings', then 'Remus Lupin' and then the first half of 'Wanderings'… how out of order can one get?). If truth be told, I was surprised at how good 'Remus Lupin' actually was – I'd always seen it as the weaker one of the three! But it was actually rather funny, and the romance wasn't corny, as I thought it was, but rather good and sweet. The only parts I groaned at where the clichés I sometimes used, and the many spelling mistakes!   
It had been so long since I'd last read 'Prisoner' that it seemed like a new, unfamiliar fict in some places. I reread that one the day before I went to see the movie of 'Prisoner in Azkaban', but perhaps I shouldn't have – I kept wondering where Monster was…   
'Wanderings' is the one I'm at the moment most proud of. It has the most original plot and characters, and, even though I say so myself, it's the best written of the three. The only problem is perhaps that it's too long; if you read it all in one sitting, there's a chance that when you reach the last chapter, you've forgotten things that happened in the first few chapters. I do hope the 'Order of the Phoenix'fict isn't going to be any longer than this one.  
I also noticed a mistake I'd made (besides the really obvious ones such as Sirius mysteriously forgetting about the Dark Mark tattoo between 'Remus Lupin' and 'Wanderings', which I can explain away by saying I'd read 'Goblet of Fire' only a few times): I turned out to have made Remus being born a year earlier than he was in 'Remus Lupin'!   
Let me explain. I'd of course done some calculating as to how old the Marauders were. General opinion has it that they were born around 1960, so I pinned Remus' birthday in that year. Remus thus starts at Hogwarts in 1971, when he turns eleven. No problem there. Then, during 'Prisoner', I found out about the 'Hermione-debate'; how old was Hermione when she started Hogwarts? This question is somewhat difficult to answer; her birthday is on September 19, so would she be eleven or ten when she started? If she was eleven, it would mean she would be 12 most of the year.   
Seeing as I'd made up that Remus' birthday was early October, I thought about this as well. I decided that he was eleven when he started Hogwarts (making him the oldest of the four Marauders). But that would mean, since he started Hogwarts in 1971, that his year of birth wasn't 1960, but 1959! He now has that birth-year, and I'll stick with that, even though I now agree with the 'Hermione was ten when she started'group. I just don't want to make it any more confusing as it is already, so it'll stay 1959.   
Gee, old guy actually…   
  
I don't think I have anything more to say, except the prerequisite thanks. Thanks to my mother, who helped me with the anatomy of a foot, and who helped me find a quote from 'Moulin Rouge!'. Thanks to my brother, who helped me find that quote as well. I'd also like to thank my friend Anne, who helped me getting inspiration for Remus' and Sirius' off-the-wall conversations (she's amazingly like Sirius, although perhaps not as obsessed with sex – I hope at least!). And of course Linda, for faithfully reading and reviewing and of course for inspiring me for Fay, and helping me out with Fay's parent's name and their last name, and for helping making up questions for the interview. Also thank you, J.K. Rowling, for making up these wonderful characters. And last but not least, thanks to everybody who reviewed – did you know that, among those 400-plus reviews I got, there are only two 'flames'? And they aren't even flames in the strictest sense of the word either; one was an advertisement for an RPG-group and one was pointing out mistakes I'd supposedly made (the 'James is a Seeker/Chaser' debate). Neat…   
  
To anybody wondering: the next fict (title: 'Order of the Wolf', though that might change) will come, I promise. The first chapter will be posted on September 8. I was actually thinking about not writing for three years and writing 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them' and 'Quidditch Through The Ages' from Remus' and Sirius' point of view in the mean time, but I wasn't quite sure how that could be done…so I'll just write 'Order of the Phoenix' from their points of view instead.   
For those in dire need of fict by me: there's at least a Luna-fict on the planning, and perhaps another Wands N' Roses fict too. And of course, you can always reread my Remus-series while you're waiting for the next instalment…   
  
_Wednesday, June 9, 2004, 15.52 hours._


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